


Ginsberg's Theorem

by Nightfall24



Series: Entropy [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bathing/Washing, Brainwashing, Burns, Cemetery, Collars, Dark, Discipline, Dom Lestrade, Dom Mycroft, Dom Sherlock, Dom/sub, Hostage Situations, Knives, Leashes, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Language, Not Britpicked, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Shock Collars, Spanking, Stockholm Syndrome, Sub Drop, Sub John, Sub Molly, Teen John, Teen John Watson, Treating humans like dogs, Younger Lestrade, Younger Mycroft, Younger Sherlock, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-12 18:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2119485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightfall24/pseuds/Nightfall24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can’t win. You can’t break even. You can’t even get out of the game. – Allen Ginsberg</p><p>John's been recruited by Irene to help the Sub Resistance. Will he go through with it? Does Sherlock know? And what's Mycroft hiding that could ruin his career?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> Sorry I missed a week, but I think I've got most of the plot points worked out for part 2. Yep, you guessed it, Elton John song titles this go around! I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1 – Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

 

**You can’t win. You can’t break even. You can’t even get out of the game. – Allen Ginsberg**

John was scared, no, more like terrified that Sherlock, or God forbid Mycroft, would find out about the contacts in his eyes. He blinked rapidly a few times as he waited for one of his Doms to come and get him. Sherlock must have been pissed at him though, because it seemed like he had spent an hour alone in the room already. 

That’s when one of his many brilliant ideas popped into his head. He could go on a recon mission and spy on Mycroft. _He has to still be in bed, right?_ With that, John jumped out of bed and made sure his gown was tied in the back, because the last thing a spy needed was to have his bum exposed for everyone to see. He made his way to the door and poked his head out to find the hallway empty save for a few nurses running from room to room.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” John asked one of the ladies who seemed in a hurry. He had no idea if this would work, but he might as well give it a try.

“Are you alright there, sweetheart?” She stopped and looked John over.

“Yes, I, umm, my Dom was shot and well…I haven’t seen him in a while, and…” John looked down, trying to act bashful even though he was giving himself a high-five for his amazing acting performance.

“Oh, you poor dear,” she said. _Obviously a Dom. Self-righteous buggers._ “Haven’t been dropped in a few days, huh? Are you the Holmes’ boy?”

“Yes ma’am,” John said, staring at the floor.

“He’s in room 237, just down that hall.” She pointed down the adjacent hallway. “You need me to walk you down there?”

“No!” John accidentally shouted, “I mean no, no thank you. I think I can find my way.”

“Alright then, dear, you feel better,” she said and actually petted him on the head. If it wasn’t so degrading it would’ve felt pretty nice.

As John walked down the hallway, he thought about how good it was to be a Sub sometimes. Nobody ever thought he was up to anything maniacal. _I’m just an innocent little Sub, who wants to be pet and cuddled._ John snickered to himself, but halted all sound when he came upon room 237.

John lowered himself down to a squat, and quietly made his way over to the door. He placed the side of his face against the wood and was pleasantly surprised when he could faintly hear people talking.

“That is unacceptable,” one voice said. John thought it was Mycroft, but he couldn’t be sure.

“I know it is, but that’s the best we can do,” another voice said, though John couldn’t place it. “If that Sub didn’t shoot you then they would’ve been more lenient, but seeing as you have a bullet hole in your arm I don’t see how they can ‘not’ put him down.”

_They’re talking about Jim, aren’t they? They want to put him down! He can’t do that!_

“The others will be taken and collared. We can use them as a test group and bring them to the expo.”

“Yes,” Mycroft said, “yes, I suppose you’re right. I’ll tell John, though, I’m sure it won’t go over well with him.”

_Damn right!_

“Don’t put yourself through too much, Mycroft. It might have been a through and through, but you were still shot.”

“Thank you Gregory, I do not need to be mothered,” Mycroft said.

_Gregory? Molly’s Greg? Huh._

“John!” If John was a cat he would have leapt up into the air and latched his claws into the ceiling. Instead, he fell down, landing hard on his bum, and saw Molly and Sherlock walking towards him. The little girl had a strawberry ice cream cone in one hand and Sherlock’s long coat in the other. She let go of his coat for a moment to wave excitedly at John, then dutifully grabbed the wool again.

Sherlock, however, had two ice cream cones in one hand while the other was typing on his mobile. It seemed like he had no idea John was even there until he finally spoke. “Why aren’t you in your room?” he asked without looking up.

Molly grabbed the chocolate ice cream out of Sherlock’s hand and ran forward to sit down next to John. She crossed her legs and handed John his, which seemed to be Rocky Road. “I…umm,” John stuttered. Although he had tricked the nurse easily, John found it hard, if not impossible, to lie to the tall Dom before him.

Thinking quickly, and cheating a bit, John looked at Molly’s ice cream and a light bulb went off in his head. “I wanted ice cream and the nurses wouldn’t bring me any.”

Sherlock looked up from his phone, giving John an appraising look. It felt like he was opening John’s brain up and peering inside, finding all his deepest and darkest secrets. “Hmm,” was all he said, before going back to focusing on his phone.

John gulped. He could feel the sweat forming on the back of his neck from the intense moment. Relieved, he licked his ice cream, tasting the first chocolate he’d had in ten years. It was amazing, no, more than amazing, it was its own bliss. John closed his eyes and relished the taste of chocolate, nuts, and marshmallows.

John’s sweet induced bliss was interrupted by a door hitting him in the side. “John? Molly? What are you doing on the floor?” Greg asked, poking his head around the edge.

“Oh, I fell,” John told the man and put a hand under him to stand. Sometimes he hated his stature. Although it wasn’t horrible being on the shorter side, having Sherlock, Mycroft, and Greg, who were all at least six foot, hanging around made him feel abnormally small. Greg stood before him, John head level with his upper chest, and gave him a disarming smile.

“Are you all right? Shall I call for a wheel chair?” Sherlock asked, but John could tell his words were hollow with a touch of sarcasm.

“Sherlock!” Greg scolded, placing a hand on John’s shoulder. God John hated how good it felt, how right.

“No, it’s okay. I’m fine. Just a bit bruised,” John said, rolling his shoulder a touch to discretely get Greg’s amazingly warm hand off him.

“What’s going on out there?” Mycroft called from inside the room. Without being told, John walked in to see a very pale, very un-Mycroft looking Mycroft. His hair was disheveled and his normally bright piercing eyes looked exhausted with dark circles hanging just above his cheekbones. There were wires and tubes sticking out everywhere, but John’s eyes were drawn to a pale arm wrapped in thick gauze.

 _He really did take a bullet for me._ A strange wave of guilt washed over him then. Mycroft had risked his own life to save him, and now John was trying to expose the man’s love life to ruin his career. _What kind of fucked up deal is that?_ _Better yet, what kind of fucked up person am I?_

Suddenly, John’s body moved on instinct to walk over and kneel beside Mycroft’s bed. He pressed the top of his head against the Dom’s hip, while his face lay comfortably on the mattress. Why he was in this position, John had no idea, but somewhere deep inside him it felt right; especially when a hand rested on the side of his head, rubbing a thumb over his ear and short sideburns.

There was a long moment of silence and John could sense all eyes on him, but that didn’t matter now. His Dom was hurt and John was supposed to help fix it. _My God, what did Sherlock do to me?_ John clasped his hands together, holding his ice cream between them as he waited for someone else to speak.

“Well, it seems like everything is handled here,” Greg finally broke the silence. “I’ll see to it the press doesn’t bother you three too much. I’m sure they’re just dying to get their greedy little hands on what happened at the Thames and this new collar.”

“You have my thanks, Gregory. I have a press conference scheduled next week, so hopefully everything will stay hush hush until then,” Mycroft said as he stroked over the back of John’s collar. The boy whimpered quietly, only enough for Mycroft to hear.

It was strange, John felt so at ease kneeling on the floor, just waiting for someone to tell him what to do. He didn’t have to think about anything or worry that someone might try to hurt him. This was bad, his brain supplied, but his body felt so lax it took everything he had not to drop the Rocky Road onto the floor.

“John, your ice cream is melting!” A high panicked voice said to him. John’s eyes flew open to see Mycroft staring down the bed at him with a soft smile on his face. He tried to pull back quickly, but his limbs refused to hurry from their hypnotic like state.

“Sorry,” he apologized when he saw chocolate milk had pooled on the floor.

“It’s alright,” Mycroft told him. “Stand up and eat your ice cream.”

With red tinted cheeks, John stood up and, to show a little rebellion, sat down in a chair by the door. This earned an aggravating chuckle from Sherlock, who was petting Molly’s head. John tried not to glare and acknowledge the man was right, so instead he rapidly licked at his ice cream.

“Sooo, yeah,” Greg filled the silent room again, the awkwardness in his voice clear. “Molly, are you ready to go?”

The little girl nodded her head, her cheeks and chin covered in pink liquid. She gave a quick squeeze to Sherlock’s leg as a goodbye hug and then went over to John to give him a full hug. John closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around the little Sub tight. He loved her, and prayed every night that she would be safe with Greg.

He reluctantly let her go and gave Greg a look a father would give to a boyfriend. _If you ever hurt her, I’ll kill you._ The Dom gave a sincere smile and nodded his head towards John. “Take care of yourself, John,” Greg said and picked up Molly in his arms and took a bit of her ice cream. The little girl giggled and waved at Mycroft, who, to John’s surprise and confusion, waved back.

As Greg opened the door, a young woman in scrubs came through with a lead in her hand. _That better not be for me._ She looked from Greg, to Sherlock, then to Mycroft. “Mr. Holmes, there are twenty reporters and at least fifty protestors outside. The police are holding them back, but I think it best if you use this.” She lifted the lead and handed it to Sherlock, completely ignoring John.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” John shouted and stood up from his seat, ice cream be damned.

The nurse looked horrified by the Sub’s outburst and went to press the emergency button next to Mycroft’s bed. “That won’t be necessary,” Mycroft said, reaching out with his good arm to catch her hand. “I’ll need my paperwork if I’m to leave today,” he told her, keeping his eyes on John. The deadly glare was just as potent even though the man was obviously not at his best.

John tilted his head down, but kept his eye on that lead, just in case Sherlock got any funny ideas. After all, Sherlock had tricked him countless times before.

With a huff, the nurse left the room, leaving the three Doms and two Subs. “I am not-” John started to say, but was cut off by Mycroft.

“Greg, I think it’s best you and Molly head home.” Mycroft scooted himself up on the inclined bed a bit more.

“Sure, well, have a good night,” Greg said and left the room with Molly in his arms.

“I am not-” John tried again, but was cut off by Sherlock this time.

“You have to, John,” he said, weighing the lead in his hand.

“I don’t have to do anything!” John took a step back, hoping he could make it to the door in time if Sherlock lunged at him.

“Yes, yes, you do,” Mycroft told him. “It is important for you to appear as any bought Sub would.”

“On a lead?! There is no fucking-”

“Language,” Mycroft said, his voice steel that cut through John’s weak defense.

John knew he was losing this fight and that lead was going to be attached to the already degrading collar.

“John,” Sherlock said, “you have to understand that we have your best interest at heart, all the Subs for that matter.”

John narrowed his eyes at the taller man, debating if Sherlock really did want what’s best for him. The blinking cursor in his vision brought back all the memories of betrayal, causing John to bolt out of the open door and into the hallway.

Tears of panic and all the unnamed feelings that ran through his mind, poured from his face. John turned the corner, praying that the collar remote had a small transmitting radius. The thing that worried him even more though, was where the fuck was he going?        

          


	2. Where to Now, St. Peter?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John freaks out. Greg tries to help. Sherlock needs to work on his Sub etiquette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, 
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and kudos for the first chapter, I really appreciate it. Also, a special thanks to TPurr for using her awesome beta skills on this chapter. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2 – Where to Now, St. Peter?

John felt and heard every slap of his foot as it hit the cold tile. The sound seemed to echo through the halls the same way the shouts from behind him echoed into his ears. “John, Stop!” Sherlock shouted, but even though he felt compelled to stop and kneel down on the floor, he knew if he did, that fucking lead would be clipped to his collar. So John kept running; to where, he had no idea, but he kept his feet moving nonetheless.

He turned the corner and figured he had gone out of range for the shock collar to work. _Yes! Now what?_ There were heavy foot falls at his back and they were getting closer by the second. Nurses, doctors, security, and most likely his Dom were all chasing him and trying to grab him as he twisted and turned out of their grasp.

After at least five turns down endless hallways, John was lost and his head was pounding with an ache that made his eyes water. Hoping maybe he could use his small stature to his benefit, John dove into a room and looked for a hiding spot. Instead, he found himself in a room with doors on either side and a shocked nurse.

“John, we’re coming in. We are not going to hurt you,” a woman said from outside the door.

Panicked, John looked around for a weapon and found a sharp looking scalpel on a tray. He picked it up and then looked at the nurse who shook her head as if reading his mind. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise,” John said before quickly wrapping an arm around her chest and holding the sharp instrument just under her ribs. The young woman squirmed a bit and started to cry, but stilled when the door opened.

“John?” a nurse said, peeking her head into the room. Her eyes went wide when she saw he had taken a hostage. _Is this what I’ve become? They’re gonna put me down, just like Jim._ “Go get someone! He’s got a knife to Joann!”

The door closed and John let out a sigh of relief. He had to think of a way out of this, a way that didn’t end with him getting shot or Joann getting hurt. “Let me go,” the woman tried to assert her dominance over him, shoving out a weak wave of bliss. He felt bad for the girl, he really did, but John knew he wasn’t going to hurt her. However, he had to make it look like he was willing to do anything if they were going to take him seriously.

_Wait. What am I going to ask them for? What do I want? Oh crap, oh crap, why did I run!_

“What do you mean he has a knife?” A familiar voice said outside the door. John could tell it was Greg, and the man sounded down right annoyed. “What did you lot do to him?”

John steeled himself, ready for the man trying to sweet talk him into putting the scalpel down so they could put him down. “John?” Greg called through the door, then opened it to see the Sub holding a nurse hostage. “Are you okay?” He asked, but to John’s surprise he was asking him, not the woman.

“Go away!” was all John could think to say. He was ears deep in something he didn’t even mean to be in, and now he had no idea how to get out.

“John, you know I can’t do that. Now, just calm down and tell me what’s going on?” Greg had his gun in his hand, but when he saw the fear in John’s eyes, he slowly put it back in its holster and held up his hands, palms forward.

“What? You’re not going to shoot me? Or maybe you just want to wait until I let my guard down?”

“John,” Greg furrowed his brow, trying to understand what had set the normally non-violent Sub off. “I’m not going to shoot you, okay. All I want you to do is put the scalpel down so we can figure out what’s got you so upset.”

The man sounded sincere, but John knew how good Doms were at lying. It was strange though that Greg had not tried to Dom him. It probably wouldn’t have worked, as John was in a hyperaware state, ready for anything to come at him—but still.

“Uh-uh, no way am I letting her go. She’s the only thing standing between me and the shot!” John shouted at him. He knew what they did to violent Subs, hell, they did it to any Sub who caused too many problems. They’d stick him in a kennel for a couple of days, and tie him down to some bed, and then inject him with some sort of poison made just for Subs. He knew, oh did he know! And that, friends and neighbors, was why John Watson wasn’t letting go of his hostage.

“The shot?” Greg asked, confused for only a moment. “Oh God, John, no, nothing like that is going to happen to you. Sherlock won’t let it, Mycroft won’t let it, and I won’t let it.” He took a step forward, causing John to take a small step back, leaving only a little room between him and the door at his back.

“Says the man who just shot my best friend and ordered him to be put down like some kind of…some kind of DOG!” John felt tears form in his eyes. His throat turned dry and his stomach sank at the thought of Jim being killed because of him. _Why did I let them follow me? Why in the fuck didn’t I make sure Jim stayed up there?!_

“How do you…?” Greg stopped himself and hung his head. “John, we are doing everything we can to help Jim. That’s not important right now-”

“Not important?! I guess that’s all we are to you, huh? Dogs who have to be put on leads and walked around like we’re just happy to be by your side.”

“No you’re not,” someone said behind him. His instincts told him to drop the knife, but his fear and anger made his hand grip the metal tight. _Don’t stab the girl!_ John shoved the girl into Greg’s arms and turned on his heel faster than he thought possible. Ready to stab whoever snuck up behind him, John pulled his arm back to swing at the tall figure.

Before his arm could release the power behind it, hands came around his nape and upper back, pulling him into his captor’s chest. _Sherlock?_ Bliss exploded through his veins like a nuclear bomb. It blinded him for a moment as heat permeated throughout his skin and deep into the marrow of his bones. It felt amazing. It felt like defeat.

Immediately, John’s hand let go of the scalpel, letting it fall with a loud clang to the floor. The next thing to succumb to the overload were his knees. John’s entire body seemed to collapse, his muscles unwilling to support his structure anymore. “Shhh,” Sherlock said. John hadn’t realized that a high pitched whine was coming from his throat. “I’ve got you.”

John felt his feet leave the floor and more tingly warmth spread from his spine to his appendages. A familiar smell of cinnamon and coconuts filled his nose as his face was pressed into something warm and soft. Sherlock was carrying him, what little consciousness left in John’s brain provided.

“Is Mycroft ready?” Sherlock asked someone.

“Yes sir, he’s waiting for you in the car,” a woman said. John made eye contact with her from his little cocoon in Sherlock’s arms, with one under his knees and the other around his back. “Would you like this?” She held up the leather lead that had caused something in John’s mind to snap.

“No,” Sherlock and Greg said in unison.

“Bloody hell, what did you do to him, Sherlock,” Greg asked, touching John’s arm. The older Dom gently lifted John’s eyelid. “His pupils are blown,” he said shaking his head a few times.

The contact of another Dom made John melt even more as his blood turned to lava and his brain turned to mush. “I dropped him a bit too fast,” Sherlock said as they started moving.

 “I’ll say.”

John watched the ceiling panels go by one after the other, noting how white they were. While he was still staring at the ceiling, something strange happened to his vision. Green text started to appear out of nowhere. “Wha’?” he tried, but his tongue felt too heavy to move.

“It’s alright there, lad,” Greg told him, running a hand through John’s hair. “Bring him up when you get into the car, Sherlock. This can’t be good for him to be dropped that deep that fast.”

“Don’t tell me how to take care of my Sub, Lestrade,” Sherlock said, but John had stopped paying attention a while ago and was trying to focus on what was happening to his eyes.

‘WAKE UP, JOHN’ the green writing read. ‘FOCUS.’ John didn’t know why they were telling him to get out of such an amazingly calm state. ‘I KNOW IT FEELS GOOD, BUT YOU NEED TO FOCUS. WAKE UP.’ John groaned and dug his face deeper into Sherlock’s chest when he felt the cold winter air hit him.

Lights flashed and people shouted at him, making John want to stay down where Sherlock had taken him even more. “Good boy,” Sherlock whispered in his ear. That was the last piece of the puzzle for John to completely ignore the strange writing in his eyes. ‘FIGHT IT, JOHN.’ But John didn’t want to fight it, he wanted to stay in Sherlock’s arms forever.

“Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes, is that one of the rebel Subs?”

“Mr. Holmes, why didn’t you just put the defective one down and get a better one?”

“Is that the new collar? Does it work?”

“Alright, that’s enough, you bleedin’ idiots,” Greg shouted at the people spewing questions at them. “Can’t you see his Sub is sleeping?”

“There’s no way he’s sleeping! He’s just putting on an act. Look at him, he’s a defective if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Get back, men, hold them back!” was the last thing John heard before he was pushed into a car.

His face landed on something warm and soft while the rest of his body was lifted to lie on Sherlock’s lap. He smelled something that reminded him of the spices him mum used to use for pies, spicy and warm. A familiar hand set itself on the side of John’s head and began rubbing slow circles at his temple.

John opened his eyes to see a white shirt in front of his face. It took him a few extra moments for the realization to flow like molasses through his brain. “Mycroft?” he asked, and was proud he was even able to articulate that in the state he was in.

“Easy,” the man said, his voice reverberating through his belly and onto John’s face. “Are you ready to come up?”

“I’ll do it,” Sherlock said rubbing John’s outer thigh and calf.

“No, you’ve done enough, Sherlock. He can’t be brought up too quickly or he’ll go into shock.” Mycroft continued to pet John’s head, but he also poked and prodded at the back of his neck, causing little bouts of pain. “He has too much dopamine in his system, thanks to you and you brilliant intervention,” Mycroft said with a touch of anger and sarcasm in his voice.

“What was I supposed to do? Let him stab that girl and ruin everything?”

“No, Sherlock, you were supposed to let Gregory handle it. He is trained for such things, after all. But honestly, do you really think John would stab some innocent girl?”

“No,” John rasped, trying to climb through the mud and pull his body out into the fresh air.

“See,” Mycroft continued to pull on the hairs at the back of John’s neck and gently pluck at the collar.

“Stop,” John whined, barely lifting his hand to grab a hold of Mycroft’s. He could feel the life coming back into him, even if it was only a little bit at a time.

Mycroft turned John’s head to look up at him, noting the receding pupils. “Just a little bit more,” he said, easily going against the Sub’s attempt to stop him.

“I didn’t mean to,” Sherlock said, stroking John’s flank and arm.

“I know Sherlock. You wanted him to be safe, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Mycroft said, his voice unnaturally empathetic. “But, you have to realize John isn’t like other Subs. His body isn’t used to being dropped so much and it could harm him.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” John whined, finally able to roll over so he was facing the roof instead of Mycroft’s stomach.

Both Doms chuckled, while Mycroft helped push John up into a sitting position. Sherlock frantically ran his hand through the boy’s blonde matted down hair. Whether from the movement of the car or from coming up from the greatest drop he’d ever had, John’s stomach began to turn. “I’m gonna…I think I’m gonna-” John said, and luckily both men knew what was about to happen.

The car pulled over and Mycroft opened his door. John crawled out on his hands and knees, landing in snowy grass that chilled his knees through the thin hospital gown. He only got a few paces away before he threw up for a good while. Sherlock had come around the car and knelt down by him, rubbing a comforting hand down his back. “That’s it, let it out,” the Dom kept repeating.

When he was finished, John let out a sigh and wiped away the tears in his eyes. “Better?” Mycroft asked when both John and Sherlock crawled back inside.

“I’m never eating Rocky Road again,” John pouted, wiping his mouth.

“No, I would imagine not,” Mycroft said, placing a hand on John’s knee. John noticed how the Doms always had a hand on him. Whether his back, his neck, or even his knee, it seemed like they were always touching him. _What are they playing at?_

“What now?” John asked, wincing at the rawness of his throat.

“Now, we go home, take a shower, and then decide on your punishment,” Mycroft told him with a straight face.

“Punishment?!” John said, flabbergasted at the fact that he just threw up and now they wanted to punish him.

“You took a nurse hostage, John, what did you expect would happen?”

“Mycroft,” Sherlock started, but with a deadly look from his brother, shut his mouth.

John furrowed his brown and flared his nostrils, but stayed silent with his arms crossed over his chest. Mycroft wanted to punish him, but it seemed like Sherlock didn’t and maybe, just maybe John could use that to his advantage. After all, he was a superspy and superspies don’t get punished. 


	3. Sweat it Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's in trouble. Sherlock doesn't seem too happy about it. Mycroft returns to his bastard-like ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> Please note the updated tags. There will be excessive use of the shock collar and some mildly descriptive spanking in this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks again to the lovely TPurr for being a kickass Beta :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 3 – Sweat it Out

“When we get home, you are to go shower and then come down to my study for your punishment,” Mycroft said as he stepped out of the car. The man held his arm, which was supported by a sling, close to his chest. He looked exhausted, but his icy blue eyes continued to stare at John, making the Sub want to tuck his chin against his chest.

“Hurry up,” Mycroft said waving John to walk towards the house, “you’ll catch your death out here.”

John looked down at his hospital gown that was now soaked with sweat and smelled faintly of throw up. Not only was it nasty, it offered little to shield him from the wind, so John scurried up the entrance and into the warm house. The Sub shook his head and limbs a bit, trying to get the blood back into them before he told Mycroft what was going to happen. _I am not getting punished._

“Look, Mycroft-” was all John could say before white hot pain shot through his neck and down to every joint in his body. Tears fell from his eyes, pooling at the bottom of his chin until they fell to the ground.

“Go upstairs, John,” Mycroft ordered, but didn’t use his push to make the boy follow his instructions.

John balked, angry at the man for not even letting him speak. He glared at Mycroft, who glared right back at him, except the latter’s was much, much more terrifying. The Sub’s teenage stubbornness decided to kick in, so John dug his feet in, ready for whatever Mycroft was about to do to him.

“Do you want your punishment now, is that it?” Mycroft practically growled. He pressed the button again, bringing John to his knees this time.

It felt like his skin was being pierced by a billion scorching needles. As soon as he screamed for Mycroft to stop, the man relented in his assault. There was a hint of frustration and sorrow on the Dom’s face, but he continued to stare at John, waiting for him to go upstairs.

“John, why aren’t you upstairs yet?” Sherlock asked as he came into the main entrance. Without another word, he grabbed John’s arm and tugged to make him follow. The boy stood up, his head hung low from the pain and embarrassment of not being able to stand up to Mycroft. He knew he should be able to handle it, but it just hurt so much. _It’s not fair._

“Let go of me.” John tried to pull his arm back when they got to the top of the stairs, but Sherlock’s grip was much stronger than John.

“Why did you do that?” Sherlock asked, annoyed.

“Do what?” John said, the petulance in his voice showing just how much of a teenager he actually was.

“Make him shock you.” Sherlock opened the bathroom door and began preparing the shower. _We’re not showering together are we? Oh God._

“Make him shock me? You’re kidding right?” John took a step back, hitting the door with his back. Sherlock looked up from testing the water with a disapproving look.

“Get in,” Sherlock told him, but continued to stare.

John narrowed his eyes. He knew, or at least hoped, Sherlock didn’t have a controller for his collar, which meant there was no way he could be forced to do anything.

“Turn around,” John crossed his arms over his chest.

“You can either undress and get in, or I can put you under and do it for you.”

John’s mouth opened to spit out some filthy retort about what Sherlock could go do to himself, but he stopped himself when the look in the man’s eyes was…well, honest. John had proof that the Dom had no issues with dropping him, even against his will. John’s nostrils flared, but when Sherlock took a step towards him, John quickly jumped into the shower, hospital gown and pants be damned.

He could hear Sherlock laugh through the curtain, but he didn’t care. John stood at the back of the shower and peeled off his clothes, throwing them carelessly onto the bathroom floor and secretly hoping Sherlock would slip and fall on them. That’s when it hit him… _Sherlock’s in the bathroom while I’m naked and showering!_     

“Must you insist on fighting us every step of the way?” Sherlock finally asked, while John, with shaky hands, started to lather up his body.

“Because I know where those steps lead to,” John retorted. He continued washing himself until he realized he cock wanted to come out and play. _Oh God. Oh fuck._ Breathing deeply, John ignored what Sherlock’s presence and voice was doing to him, and continued to wash his hair. _Just focus on the conversation and how much you hate him, John. Just focus._

“That’s where you’re wrong. You have no idea what would happen if you decided to give in to your instinct. Don’t you want to know, John? Don’t you want to just try it? To just give in?”

“Shut up!” John shouted, his erection still hadn’t flagged, especially now when Sherlock was practically purring on the other side of the curtain.

“Are you done yet?” Sherlock asked, as if the prior conversation had no effect on him. _Bloody bastard._

“Umm, no, not yet,” John stuttered out, grabbing a hand full of soap and taking himself in hand. He held his breath, not wanting Sherlock to notice his rapid breathing as his climax neared. Moving his hand faster and faster, John replayed Sherlock’s words over and over again in his head. ‘You have no idea what would happen if you decided to give in to your instinct. Don’t you want to know, John? Don’t you want to just try it? To just give in?’

John opened his mouth wide in a silent cry and clinched his eyes shut as his muscles tightened. He jerked himself brutally fast until every last drop ran down the drain. His breathing was labored as he rinsed off his hands and feet.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked, real concern in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just about done.” After a few moments, his cock fell flaccid again, giving John the go ahead to turn off the water and reach for a towel. He dried himself off with the fluffiest towel ever and stepped out covering himself from the hips down.

“Here,” Sherlock held out some clothes for John to wear, but again, the git still wouldn’t turn around.

Not wanting to go under and be completely naked and dressed by the infuriating man, John turned around and used the towel to somewhat cover his rear while he slipped on a pair of pants.

“I don’t see why you’re so bashful. I’ve already seen you naked,” Sherlock said, as if they were talking about a football game.

“Yeah, while I was doped up!” John snapped and pulled on a pair of checkered sleep trousers. Lastly, he put on a black long sleeved shirt and hung up his towel. “You just don’t get it, Sherlock.” John shook his head and opened the door, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve never hurt you when I put you under. Never taken advantage. Never put you in danger. Why do you resist your nature so much?” Sherlock’s voice seemed sad, as if he felt bad for John because the Sub didn’t want to be dropped.

“I’m not me. I’m not…” John paused, unsure of how to answer the question. When he thought about it, sometimes it was hard to remember why he didn’t want the bliss Sherlock gave him. “It’s scary,” he finally admitted, because it was the scariest thing on the planet to be taken down to a place where he was completely dependent on a Dom. _Why do I have to be the one who has to let everything go and hope Sherlock doesn’t fuck it all up? WHY?!_

“I see,” was all Sherlock said, his voice curious. “Let’s head downstairs. I’m sure it won’t do you any good to keep Mycroft waiting.”

Thankful that Sherlock had abandoned the conversation, John hurried out of the room and down the stairs to face whatever Mycroft had planned for him. He recalled the time Mycroft had put soap in his mouth when he cursed too much, and wondered how the punishment would fit the crime in this instance.

Sherlock opened the door to Mycroft’s study and pushed John in when the teen’s feet didn’t seem to move. John was scared, but that little green line blinking in his vision told him he was doing this for something greater than himself…or, at least that’s what he told his shaking body.

“Ah, John, Sherlock, good of you to join me,” Mycroft said. He was sitting in his chair behind a wooden desk, and had a glass of what appeared to be scotch in his hand. “John,” he set his glass down and leaned forward to brace one elbow on the desk. “What you did today was dangerous and juvenile, not to mention disobedient. You ran from your Doms. That is your first offence. Secondly, you took someone hostage-”

“But I-” John tried to defend himself, but was cut off by the eldest Holmes holding up a hand.

“You took that young girl hostage, which forced Sherlock to take you down as fast as possible. That is hazardous behavior at its peak and I will not have any Sub of mine running around like some wild animal!” Mycroft’s voice was rising with every word, until finally it reached a bellow.

John lowered his head. He really tried to keep it up and stare defiantly into Mycroft’s eyes, but he knew he had been reckless this afternoon, and maybe he did deserve punishment.

“I’m sorry,” John said, his voice almost a whisper.

“Not as sorry as you are going to be,” Mycroft told him, motioning for Sherlock to have a seat on one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk. “You need to learn your place John, and that does not include running away or taking innocent people hostage. You are our Sub, and it’s our job to discipline you.”

John twisted his hands together. Okay, now he was really nervous when he saw Sherlock sit down in a chair that wasn’t facing Mycroft, but John.

“Normally I would be the one doing this, but since I can barely move my arm, Sherlock will be taking over. John,” he motioned towards Sherlock, “you will receive a spanking of 40 swats.”

“What?!” John’s brow knitted together in confusion and disbelief. _A spanking? Who spanks someone?_

“You heard me,” Mycroft told him. “Now, pull down your trousers and pants and bend over Sherlock’s knee.”

“No fucking way!” John laughed, but he was cut short when Mycroft pressed the button to activate his collar. “Ahhh!” he screamed and clutched at his neck. When the pain had receded some, John looked up to see both Doms staring at him expectantly.

“Please,” John said, still hunched over with his hands on his knees, “I’m sorry. I won’t do anything like that again, I promise.”

“It’s obvious by your defiance now that you still have not learned what it means to be a Sub, John. This is my fault, I’m afraid, I’ve been too lenient on you in the past and you’ve learned bad habits.”

“John,” Sherlock said, his eyes pleading, “come here and lie across my lap.”

John fisted the hem of his shirt, darting his eyes back and forth between Mycroft and Sherlock. He didn’t want to do this, but also really, really didn’t want to be shocked again. There was no way out of this mess and now it was time to pay the piper

With a clenched jaw, John walked over to Sherlock, resolute in his determination that he would be strong and get this over with. He wouldn’t cry, he wouldn’t beg, he wouldn’t do anything that would make them think he had cracked.

Standing awkwardly next to Sherlock’s lap, John bent over to press his stomach on the man’s lap. As if knowing exactly what to do, Sherlock grabbed the Sub’s hip and lifted him slightly to reposition him and make sure John’s bum was sticking in the air.

 _This is fine. This is all fine. Oh fuck, this is not fine!_ John began to squirm and struggle when Sherlock grabbed the waistband of his pants and trousers and tugged down, exposing John’s bare arse for all to see. Sherlock held him tightly to his lap, like a Venus flytrap that finally found its prey. John whimpered slightly at the fact that his hands barely touched the ground and his feet were completely off.

“Forty. Are you ready?” Sherlock asked, resting a bare hand on John’s bum. It felt strange, to be touched there, but luckily John’s penis hung soft between Sherlock thighs and didn’t decide to say hello to the warm physical contact he was receiving.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft scolded, “no bliss. Don’t even try it.”

Sherlock sighed and the next thing John knew his arse was on fire. Wave after wave of hard slaps hit his sitspot. John closed his eyes and held his breath, his face turning as red as his bum. _I can take this. I can take this. I CAN’T take this!_ John let out a choked sob and threw his hand back behind him while the other went to grasp Sherlock’s calf in a death grip. His hand was caught however, and turned so it lay against his lower back.

“Don’t reach back again,” Sherlock warned, but halted the spanking for the time being.

“Please, please,” John said, breathing hard, “I’ll be good. I promise. Just stop.”

“Subs do not tell someone to do anything, John,” Mycroft said from his seat. “Continue, Sherlock.”

“No!” John cried, but Sherlock tightened his grip on the teen and then began bringing down hell on his upper thighs and lower bum. The Sub tried everything he could to move out of the way from the smacks, but eventually he wore himself out and could only surrender to the building of the harsh sting. Finally, John’s body went lax and tears began to roll down his face.

He had learned his lesson. He would never do anything like that ever again. At that moment, John wanted to be good. And then, the spanking stopped, but the sizzling tingles on his backside remained. “Ow,” John whimpered, still keeping a tight grip on Sherlock’s trouser leg.

“John, can you hear me?” Mycroft asked.

The boy nodded his head, watching as the tears hit the carpet.

“You’re not going to try and escape again, are you?”

“No,” he said, his voice sounding like a five year olds.

“That’s good. I want you to remember what happens to bad boys who break the rules, okay? That way we won’t have to have this discussion again.”

“’Kay,” was all John could get out before more sobs took over. He had no idea where they were coming from either. The spanking had hurt yes, but nothing that should call up such deep emotions. “I-I-I’m s-ss-sorry,” he cried as Sherlock lifted him up from his lap and began righting his trousers.

John stood hunched over with a sore bottom and regret in his heart, while Sherlock saw everything the Sub’s lower half had to offer. _This really, really sucks._ The man worked clinically though and gently put John back into his pants and trousers, then pulled him in close for a warm hug.

Through all this, John continued to cry from someplace deep down inside where all his guilt and hatred lived. He hated his parents and those stupid collars, but most of all he hated himself. He let Mycroft and Jim get shot, he failed his sister and Mike, he held an innocent woman hostage just so he wouldn’t have to put on a lead. It was his fault, and his alone.  

 _Maybe I did deserve this._ “I-I’m s-sorry,” he cried into Sherlock’s chest as the man held him close.

“It’s okay, John, it’s okay. You’re forgiven. Shh shh shh,” Sherlock chanted into his ear and rubbed his hand up and down John’s back, soothing him. Both brothers passed a look over John’s head, as neither of them understood why the boy was crying so hard. “No need for all these tears. Come on, I’ll take you to bed.”

Sherlock lifted him up, careful of his bruised bum, and held him bridal style. As they headed upstairs, John grabbed a hold of the Sherlock’s shirt and buried his head into the man’s embrace. For once, John was thankful for the comfort Sherlock’s warmth brought.             

           


	4. Shaky Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's having nightmares. Anthea visits to talk about the conference schedule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> A big thanks to TPurr for her beta skills on this chapter. I did change a few things after I sent it to her, so all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Also, the lovely stilesstilerstyle drew an amazing picture for The Second Law. Check it out at here: http://purrlockholmes.tumblr.com/post/96125336044/click-for-full-size-immediately-john-panicked
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 4 – Shaky Ground

Things were not going as planned; in fact, they were going to shit right before John’s eyes. The Sub had thought things were going to be different now that he had the Sub Resistance on his side; in actuality though, he had never felt so alone.

Not only did his bum hurt, but his pride had taken a beating as well. The fact that at sixteen years of age, he’d had his pants pulled down, and was then bent across someone’s knee made his confidence in his ability to fight Sherlock and Mycroft go down the drain. They were just too smart for him, and not to mention they were both right about John deserving a spanking after the stunt he pulled at the hospital. _Sherlock was right. Fuck, he’s always right._  

“Sh sh sh,” Sherlock cooed to him like he was a baby. _And let’s face it John Watson, you are acting like one._ John was gently placed down on Sherlock’s bed with his rear in the air.

“I-I didn’t mean to,” John cried into the pillow. John tried to handle everything this world was throwing at him, he really did, but at the end of the day, he was only a scared teenage boy. He’d almost been shot by one of his best friends, _I mean my God! How am I supposed to handle all this?!_ “My feet just-just started moving and then I got scared and…and I wasn’t really going to hu-hurt that lady, Sherlock, I really wasn’t!”

“I know, John. Everything is forgiven, I promise,” Sherlock rubbed the Sub’s back gently. The little gesture was too reminiscent of his mother taking care of him when he was sick… _before I presented of course, then she didn’t give two flying shits if I was sick._ “Stay still, I’m going to get some cream so you don’t bruise as much.”

The coldness John felt on his back when Sherlock left was intolerable. His muscles tightened and he squeezed his eyes together as he waited. _Vulnerable and weak_ , John kept repeating in his head. His back was facing the person he was supposed to hate and the thing was, he wanted to be there with Sherlock. To be vulnerable and safe at the same time, just like he was when Sherlock was spanking him. His Dom never truly hurt him, _and that’s about a vulnerable as you can get, lying naked across someone’s lap._ He was safe in that moment, safe and free of any worries because Sherlock knew what John had done wrong, and now he was being punished for it. _No secrets, no lies, no compromises._

“I’m going to pull your trousers down a bit, is that alright?” Sherlock asked, putting his hand back on John’s lower spine.

John nodded his head slightly, feeling exhaustion take over him. He’d been recruited by the Resistance, taken a woman hostage, jerked off, spanked, and now Sherlock was rubbing cream on his bum. _Yep, I’d call that a pretty full day._ He felt Sherlock lift his hips slightly, then pull down his sleep trousers just to the top of his thighs.

The cold cream made him jump at first contact, sending a wave of blood to his head, ensuring that he would have a headache. “Sorry,” Sherlock said, as he liberally applied the cream. It should be embarrassing, John knew, but the caring way Sherlock rubbed it in made John relax a little and stop his tears. “This is going to hurt tomorrow.”

“Great,” John said with a mouthful of pillow. “Thanks for that.”

“Someday you’ll realize why Mycroft and I do what we do, John. I don’t expect you to understand it now, you’re just a child.”

“What!?” John snapped, trying to roll over and face the stupid git, but was stopped by a firm hand on his back. _I might have had a weak moment, but I am not a child!_

Sherlock sighed and halted his hands, but kept one of them on John’s tailbone. “Believe it or not, we are trying to help Subs, and we need your help to do it. Since you are apparently too stubborn to behave in such a way that is required of you, it must be forced. Thus, a sore bottom,” Sherlock said, poking the bright red flesh for emphasis.

“Ow!” John squirmed on the bed, trying and failing to get away from Sherlock’s massaging hands. “Please Sherlock, enlighten me, how are you helping Subs?”

“I’ve told you before, John, there are only two options for Subs with RDD that will be internationally accepted. One,” Sherlock stood, wiping his hands on his gown, “they are either put down or given electrotherapy. You of all people know this, and it will continue to happen every time a faulty Sub presents.”

“We’re not faulty!” John challenged and pulled up his pants. The boy wiped his eyes dry so he could glare up at Sherlock.

“In their eyes, you are, John,” Sherlock said, sympathetically. “Option two, which is Mycroft’s and my idea, is to use these collars to send bliss directly through the Sub’s defenses. All we have to do is locate their opening, like the one on your back, and then program the collar to send a small wave of bliss to make the Sub more pliable.” Sherlock’s eyes sparkled as he told John their master plan.

“Sherlock,” John said, propping himself up on one elbow, “neither of those sound good. Subs aren’t just something you can control by putting a collar on them. We’re people, not some horse you need to break in.”

Sherlock looked pensively at John for a long moment before he crawled onto the bed and yanked the teen up to lay beside him. John squirmed against the two hands around his stomach and the chest at his back until he realized it was useless even on his best day. “You’re Subs, John, I can’t change that. All I can do is make life easier for you…make it so you never have to suffer again.”

Sherlock pressed his cheek against the top of John’s head. Then, he did something that should have made John jump up with fists ready to swing. The man placed a soft, brief kiss on top of John’s head. The teen stiffened for only a moment, shocked at the act, but soon his muscles gave into the sensations and went lax.

“They could just let all the Subs go,” John said, but his eyes were closed and he was half way down the stairs of sleep.

“I could never let you go, John.” Sherlock’s words fell on deaf ears.

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When John opened his eyes he was standing on top of a building. Not just any building, no, this one he remembered quite well. Jim was standing a few meters away on the edge of the roof. “Jim!” John shouted, but his voice seemed to be lost in the wind.

 “John, please don’t,” Jim cried, his face full of terror.

That’s when John realized it was he who was holding the gun, not Lestrade. He tried to lower it, but something in his muscles wouldn’t allow it.

“Shoot him,” Sherlock said. John looked over to see Sherlock standing at his side with a hand on the Sub’s shoulder. “Do it,” he hissed. The tall gentle man he once knew had turned into a twisted caricature, with deep blackened eyes and a hungry sharp-toothed grin.

Within a split second, John’s finger pulled the trigger and Jim fell from the roof with a blood curdling scream.

“NO!” John shouted, quickly sitting up in the bed. His brow was sweaty, his eyes were damp, and his heart felt like it was going to literally beat out of his ribcage.

“Wha’” Sherlock mumbled and sat up to look at John with worry in his eyes. The teen wiped his eyes and sniffed a few times, trying to get rid of the evidence that he’d been crying in his sleep. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing, just got something in my eye,” John lied. He looked at Sherlock, making sure his pale face was back to normal and his silver eyes still shone brightly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just…let’s go back to sleep.” John lay back down, but didn’t close his eyes. The image of Sherlock’s waxy face and Jim’s screams threatened to take over if he even thought about closing his eyes.

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next time John opened his eyes, big curious ones were staring at him. “You talk in your sleep,” Sherlock told him. He turned around and slid off the bed, looking at John expectantly as he reached for his robe.

_Oh God, did I say something about the resistance in my sleep?_ “Oh,” was all John said, not willing to give anything away. John climbed out of bed, stretching and wincing from the slight pinch on his nape. “Sorry.”

“It’s time for your breakfast, come.” Sherlock walked to the door and held out a hand for John to grab onto. John looked down at his pajama trousers and long sleeve shirt, and then at Sherlock, who had donned a blue silk robe over his pajamas. _I want a cool robe._ Settling for his blue and grey stripped clothes, John walked passed Sherlock, ignoring the man’s hand as he left the room.

“You’re not eating?” John asked as he walked past the taller man.

“Slows me down,” Sherlock said, settling for putting a hand on the teen’s shoulder.

“Really,” John looked back at him, quirking his eyebrow. “I was under the impression that food gave you energy.”

“Thank you, Dr. Watson,” Sherlock said sarcastically and pushed him into the kitchen.

Mycroft was sitting at the head of the table with a cup of coffee in one hand, while his other stayed nestled in a sling. He was intently reading a newspaper splayed out to the side of his plate. There were three places set, filled with generous portions of sausage, eggs, beans, and a lovely ripe tomato. John’s stomach grumbled at just the sight, but the back of his mind told him something was off about this scene.

_I have a chair and my own plate. Why?_ John stared at the man curiously, waiting to find out what his game plan was. “Have a seat, John. Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.” Mycroft gestured with his good hand to the seat adjacent to him on the long side of the table.

“You didn’t poison the food did you?” John asked, half joking, half serious. _Why don’t they want me to sit on Sherlock’s lap this time?_

“Not today,” Sherlock said, and John hoped that was just a joke as well, but knew it probably wasn’t.

John found out why he got his own chair when pain shot through his bum at first contact. “Ow!” John yelped and stood up quickly.

The eldest Holmes showed no sign that he had heard what happened, or even cared for that matter. He only took a bite of his eggs and continued reading. “Anthea will be here in a few minutes, John. Now, sit down and eat.”

“Like hell I will!” John said, picking up his plate and fork. Before he could shovel the first bite of sausage into his mouth, Mycroft snapped his fingers. Confused, John looked up from the plate in his hand and stared at Mycroft.

“The only reason you were not shocked was because I rather like that china you have in your hand.” Mycroft put his coffee down and pulled out the remote, fixing John with a deadly glare. “But know this, if you do not sit down and eat within the next ten seconds, you will be shocked and then I will tie you to the chair myself.”

John’s heart picked up. He hated giving into the man, but he also hated getting shocked. _Would he really tie me down?_

“I would not suggest digging in your heels here, John. In fact, you have nothing to dig your heels into in this matter. Five seconds.”

John bit down hard on his lower lip, and then sat down hard, making his bum scream out in pain. He slammed the food down on the table and didn’t take his focus off the food, for he couldn’t bring himself to look at the man who defeated him so easily.

“Thank you,” Mycroft said, picking his fork back up and turned his attention to the paper.

“Whatever,” John mumbled in between bites of the heavenly meal. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” John smiled, changing the subject. He wondered if this Anthea was the subordinate Irene had mentioned.

This earned a barked laugh from Sherlock, though John had no idea what was so funny. “That’s not really his area, nor is it mine.” Sherlock nibbled on a piece of toast, spilling the crumbs everywhere.

“Oh, then, uhh…boyfriend? ‘Cause that’s fine, I mean, it’s all fine.” John said before a shoving a huge bite of beans in his mouth. _If this Anthea isn’t it, then who?_

“Good morning, Sir,” a woman said. She walked into the kitchen and sat across from John, who now had a goofy grin on his face. The woman was beautiful, with long brown hair and a great figure even with the dress suit she wore.

“H-Hi,” John said dumbly, “I’m John.” _Focus, John._

“Yes, I know,” she said, barely glancing at him. She opened a manila folder in front of her and waited for Mycroft to acknowledge her. _She’s a sub? Whose Sub? Mycroft said that I was his first one, didn’t he?_

“Good morning, Anthea, thank you for coming. I wanted to go over the conference schedule with both Sherlock and John.”

“Of course,” she said, pulling out a few pieces of paper from the folder and sliding it over to everyone at the table.

“Who owns you?” John blurted out, earning a smirk from Sherlock and an embarrassed look from Mycroft, who rubbed a hand over his face.

She looked at Mycroft and then back at John. “No one owns me. Now, on Satu-”

“But how is that possible? Subs can’t be free.” John knitted his brow, confused and getting slightly frustrated at his own ignorance.

“John,” Mycroft said, his voice not as annoyed as John thought it would be. “It’s very complicated, but if you are good while we go over Saturday’s schedule, I’ll explain it to you. Deal?”

John eyed the man carefully, then nodded his head when Mycroft seemed to be sincere.

“Good. Now, Anthea, please continue.” He motioned to the woman who stared at John a moment longer, then focused her attention back on the paper.

“At 10pm there will be a meet and greet brunch in the dining hall. You, Sherlock, and John will all sit at the head table. Would you like there to be a kneeling pad? Or will John be sitting on Sherlock’s lap?”

Like that, John’s appetite was gone and he threw down his fork in pure anger. “Maybe I can just crawl around from table to table and beg for scraps.” The sarcasm and frustration in his voice was palpable.

“I think in Sherlock’s lap would be best. I think we are going to need to keep John close to you, Sherlock.”

“Agreed,” Sherlock nodded, but gave John a sympathetic smile.

“Very good,” Anthea wrote down a few things, while John stewed in silence. “At 11:30, we will adjourn to the main hall where we will have a brief Q and A.”

Mycroft looked into his coffee as if trying to find an answer. The scowl on his face told John there wasn’t a good answer to be found. “John, people are going to ask you questions. Some will be rather vulgar, while some intrusive, but I need you to-“

“I’ll work with him, Mycroft. I said I would,” Sherlock said, looking over at John.

“Be sure that you do brother. I do not need to remind you what will happen if he lashes out while on stage.”

“You do realize I’m sitting right here,” John snapped at the two men. His patience was growing thin, and the storm brewing inside him was a force to be reckoned with.

Mycroft merely sighed and rubbed his forehead, trying to stop an impending migraine. “Is the demo after that?”

“Yes sir, Jim will be-”

“Jim!? What about Jim? He’s still alive?” John shot up from his seat, his hands firmly placed on either side of his plate. If Jim was still alive that meant John wasn’t responsible for his death. Giant lead weights seemed to grow wings and lift up from his chest and shoulders, freeing him of the guilt in his heart.

“Yes, alive and well. I convinced the Department of Sub Corrections that if he was spared the kennels, his life could serve a far greater purpose,” Mycroft said.

John was even more confused than before. _Jim shot him, why would Mycroft save him?_ “Why…why did you do that?”

“It was discovered at the hospital that Jim had a severe case of RDD,” Sherlock said. “We thought it would be best if a Sub with a criminal history could be reintroduced into society as a perfectly functional Sub.” The smile on Sherlock’s face was that of a giddy boy who had just received a new puppy for Christmas.

“A perfectly. Functional. Sub.” John let the words roll off his lips, the disgusting flavor making him want to throw up. Jim was their lab rat! _Is that better than death, though? Did Mycroft save him or condemn him?_

Sherlock looked down at his hands, forcing Mycroft to cut in. “Yes, John. Jim has already been in surgery and the second generation collar has been installed. His collar will respond to voice command, giving him bliss for the first time ever. This is a gift, John, you must see that.”

The problem was, John did see, and he hated himself for it. His two Doms must have fucked up his mind more than he thought, because how on God’s green earth could he feel happy that Jim was with Doms and experiencing bliss? Jim should be free in the city somewhere, recruiting other Subs like him. But that’s not how John felt.

“Can…can I see him? And my sister, and Mike?” John sat down, keeping his eyes on his plate and began picking at his now cold sausage.

“I will allow you to see Jim before the conference, but your sister and Mike are still in processing. They will be given to good homes, so all you need to worry about is being a good boy for Sherlock.”

John only looked at the man, neither acquiescing nor denying he would be good for the conference. If he could find out who this mystery person was that Mycroft was sleeping with, maybe, just maybe, he could turn the tide and win a victory for the Resistance.

“Right,” Mycroft said, taking a deep breath, “I believe that is all Anthea. Thank you for coming. Sherlock and John will show you out.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but stood up and motioned for John to do the same. John stood, wincing at the feeling of blood flowing back into his bruised bum. He followed them both into the main foyer and jumped at the unexpected knock at the door.

Sherlock opened the door to reveal Greg and Molly standing in the entrance way. “What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked, the annoyance in his voice clear. John could tell his Dom liked Greg, but was bored by him as he was with most things, like air, as the older man had told him one time.

“Mycroft called. He wanted to discuss security for the conference,” Greg said, allowing Anthea to walk past him. With Molly in tow, Greg barged past Sherlock and smiled at John. “Feeling better, lad?”

“Yeah,” John answered with a nod. He remembered how Greg had lowered his gun at the hospital when he saw how terrified John was. _He seems like a good guy, right?_  

“John!” Molly greeted him with a big hug that almost knocked the teenager over.

“Hey Molly.” John kneeled down and ignored the two men who left them to walk to the kitchen. “How’va been kiddo,” John smiled at her and brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. Molly looked happy and healthy, which was all John could ask for. _So Greg lives another day, then._

“Look what I got!” She squealed and dug into the waist band of her trousers. The little girl pulled out a large bar of chocolate that was missing a few squares.

“Cool,” John smiled, trying not to show the concern and confusion on his face. “Where did you get that?” He examined the bar, making sure no one was trying to poison her. _Why would they poison a six year old?_

“My!” Molly smiled, holding the bar of chocolate tightly.

“Yeah, I know it’s yours Molly. I’m not going to take it from you,” John laughed, poking her in the belly playfully. “Who gave it to you?”

“My!” She said again with an even bigger smile on her face.

“Mycroft, must you be so intolerable?” Sherlock shouted from the kitchen, making John’s mind click the name into place.

“Mycroft?” John asked. “Did Mycroft give this to you?”

Molly nodded and held out the bar for John to take some. “He said it was for being such a brave girl when you hurt your neck. He came over ‘cause Greg was so worried, but it’s okay to be worried. That’s what My said.”

“Did he now?” _Why would Mycroft go over to Greg’s house just to give Molly chocolate? Who are you, Mycroft Holmes?_     


	5. My Quicksand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds out some very valuable information. Sherlock is a brilliant bastard. Even with one bad arm, Mycroft is still the boss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> I wanted to give you all an early update this week. I'm going to try and get another chapter up by Sunday or Monday, so you can have two for the week. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 5 – My Quicksand

Molly held Greg’s hand as they walked into the house. She liked holding his hand, especially after spending the day at the scary hospital. John had looked so sick and scared, even Greg seemed worried. “Is John going to be okay?” she asked, looking up at the tall man.

“Of course he is, sweetheart,” he said, pulling off Molly’s coat and hanging it up on a hook. “Now go wash your hands for dinner. How does macaroni and cheese sound?”

“Yum!” She licked her lips, because yes, macaroni and cheese did sound delicious. Molly ran up the stairs and into the bathroom. There was a stool set up just for her, so she could brush her teeth and wash her hands without Greg’s help. Not that he minded of course, as he always tucked the little girl in at night without fail.

She brushed the knots out of her hair and washed her hands thoroughly before heading back downstairs. Greg had already set the table and was adding cheese to the instant meal. “Alright, let’s eat,” he said, giving her a hearty helping and a kiss on the top of the head.

They ate in peace, with Molly asking six year old philosophical questions and laughing when Greg would take a bite of her food.

Before she knew it, it was time for bed and Greg was turning on the dolphin nightlight he had bought for her. “All settled, then?” He adjusted the blankets around her and gave Eskimo nose kisses. “Good night, Molls. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Molly yawned, a soft smile on her face as she clutched Leopold the bear to her chest. She closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

It didn’t seem too long before Molly woke up and strangely felt wide awake. She shifted her feet to the side of the bed and hopped down. Keeping Leopold in hand, Molly opened her bedroom door and headed downstairs to get a glass of milk. _Ooo, and maybe a cookie!_ With her stomach in mind, the little girl went into the kitchen to find a sight she hadn’t expected. Sherlock’s brother and Greg were sitting in the kitchen. Greg was leaning on his elbow, while Mycroft had his hand on the other man’s cheek, stroking it gently.

It was a strange, strange sight, especially when Greg took Mycroft’s hand and kissed it. “Greg?” Molly asked, her voice meek, as she knew she was interrupting.

“Molly,” Greg shot up, scooting the chair back. “Umm, what are you doing up, sweetheart, it’s two in the morning?”

“I was hungry,” she said rubbing the sleep away from her eyes.

“Oh, umm, okay,” Greg said, going to the cabinets to find her something to eat.

“That reminds me,” Mycroft said, standing up and walking over to kneel in front of Molly. “I brought this for you.” He pulled out the largest bar of chocolate Molly had ever seen. She had only had chocolate once before she met Greg, and that was only a small piece that John had stolen for her. Now, Greg would give her sweets all the time, as long as she ate her vegetables, of course.

“F-For me?” Molly asked. She had no idea what she’d done, but whatever it was she would make plans to do it again.

“Indeed. You were a very brave girl yesterday.” Mycroft brushed a piece of hair behind the girl’s ear and placed the chocolate in her hands. “I know you were worried about John, but I promise he’s going to be alright. I’m taking care of him.”

“Greg says John’s just a stubborn little thing, but he’s really worried about him too. I can tell,” she told him, in hopes Mycroft could comfort the man.

“I know he is,” Mycroft laughed, looking up at Greg, who shrugged at the truth. “But it’s okay to be worried about someone you care for, right?”

Molly nodded her head somberly, thinking about how much she worried about John and her other friends who protected her all those years.

“Good,” Mycroft smiled, and Molly was pretty sure it was the first time she’d ever seen the man’s teeth. “Now, I think I can distract Greg long enough for you to eat a piece,” he said, whispering to her as if conspiring to take over the world.

“No, you cannot,” Greg called from the kitchen counter.

“But pleeese,” Molly whined, earning a wink from Mycroft, who looked quite happy with himself.

“No ma’am,” he shook his head, but there was a smile on his face. He brought over a plate with a peanut butter and banana sandwich. “You can have some tomorrow for a snack after lunch - no, no pouty lips, you know that doesn’t work on me.”

Mycroft laughed at that, but quickly sobered when the silver haired Dom glared at him. “Now eat your sandwich. I’ll get you some milk.” Before Greg left the table he gave Molly a kiss on the head and Mycroft a kiss on the cheek. The little girl giggled at that, but dutifully ate her sandwich after Mycroft tried to pull it away for himself.

Molly watched the two men looking at each other with little smiles on their faces. It made her happy that Mycroft came over, not just for the chocolate, but because Greg always seemed to be happier when the red haired man was around. Molly smiled along with them as she ate her delicious sandwich, in a warm home, with comfy pajamas, and a kind new family.

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“They did what?!” John’s eyes grew wide when the little girl in front of him said Greg had kissed Mycroft on the cheek. Molly giggled as she told him and broke off a piece of chocolate and handed it to John. “Molly,” he said, taking the block, “are you sure you saw them kissing?”

Molly nodded and leaned forward, kissing John’s cheek as he kneeled in front of her. “See!” Her giggles turned hysterical now that she had just kissed a boy.

“Well I’ll be damned,” John stoked his chin, wishing he could grow a goatee and pondering what all this meant. If the press found out two Doms, especially two male Doms, were fooling around it would be a field day. Not to mention Greg works for Mycroft. _Oh, this is going to be good._

Quickly, John stood up and sprinted into Mycroft’s office. He scrambled for a pen and paper, needing to tell the Resistance he did his job. ‘I FOUND OUT MYCROFT’S MISTRESS.’ _Or is it ‘Mister?’_

Five seconds later, words filled his vision. ‘GOOD WORK JOHN. A REPORTER WILL PROMPT YOU AT THE CONFERENCE. YOUR NEXT MISSION IS TO EXPOSE MYCROFT HOLMES. GOOD LUCK.’ And like that, John was left alone again with a new mission to destroy two people’s lives.

“John!” someone called his name from the front room. Panicked, he ripped the piece of paper into little pieces and ran out into the foyer. He donned an innocent face when he saw the severity in Mycroft’s eyes. “Come here!”

John didn’t realize he was shaking until he started moving forward. The man hadn’t commanded him, but John had enough self-preservation to obey. His bum was already sore enough, and he had no desire to have a repeat of last night.  

John rubbed his behind as he walked over, earning a sympathetic look from Greg. _He_ kn _ows too? Damn, just put it on a sign out front: John Watson was spanked last night and cried like a baby._

John yanked his hands away and crossed his arms, puffing out his chest as he did so. He didn’t know who this guy was now. Sure he was good to Molly, but if he was hiding a relationship with someone like Mycroft… _well, anyone who could love Mycroft had to be of the different sort anyways, right?_

“Going to meet Jim today?” Greg asked, extending his hand to Molly, who took it eagerly.

“Yes,” Mycroft answered, walking over to stand next to John. “John wants to see him before the conference.”

“He’ll like that, I think. Well, like I said, I’ll drive you three to the Dom/Sub Affairs Center while Donovan heads the Subs transport.”

“The Subs?” John asked, earning a heavy hand on his shoulder. He knew what it meant of course, _shut up before I make you shut up,_ but John didn’t really care. He’d just made a plan with the Resistance and there was nothing Mycroft could do about it.  

Greg looked up at Mycroft, who shook his head once. John mumbled what Mycroft could go do to himself under his breath and was eternally grateful that the Dom still had his arm in a sling. It would take forever for Mycroft to reach into his pocket and pull out the collar remote, and to top it off, he would have to shock John in front of Molly. So, in all his teenage wisdom, John thought he was safe to tell Mycroft to go fuck himself.

The hand on his shoulder tightened like a painful vice, making the teen wince and lift his shoulder out of instinct. “You’ll find out later, John,” Sherlock chimed in. “Come, let’s go upstairs and change before we go to visit Jim.” Sherlock waved him over, but when John tried to move, the pain in his shoulder grew much, much worse.

“I think you owe Greg and Molly an apology for using that kind of language in front of them,” Mycroft hissed in his ear.

John knew he wouldn’t be released until he did what Mycroft said, so John swallowed and lowered his head. “I’m sorry for using foul language in front of you, Greg.”

“You’re forgiven,” Greg said, smiling at John and quirking an eyebrow at Mycroft.

John turned as much as the hand on his shoulder would allow and looked down at Molly, who held her chocolate tightly to her chest, as if it was her bear. “I’m sorry Molly, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“That’s okay, John, you’re just stubborn.” The little girl smiled, obviously unaware of what those words actually meant. Greg couldn’t hold back a barked laugh, earning a glare from John. She’d been listening to everything her Dom had said, and watching apparently. _Maybe she could be my little spy. No, John, what are you thinking? She’s only six._

“Indeed he is,” Mycroft answered her in a tone that was almost fond. Then, he released his hold on John. “Go upstairs and change. We leave in thirty minutes.”

“Bye Molly, I’ll see you later,” John bent down and hugged her, letting her wrap her arms around his neck even though it pressed the barbs painfully into his nape.

“Bye, John,” she said with a smile, then returned her hand to hold Greg’s.

John walked over to Sherlock, who had already made it halfway up the stairs. When John took his second step, text flew into his vision, making him trip on the stairs. He hit with a loud thud, but he didn’t hear Sherlock ask him if he was okay, as he read what the Resistance was telling him.

‘WHO IS THE MISTRESS? WRITE IT DOWN WHEN YOU CAN.’

“Okay,” John accidentally said out loud.

“What’s that?” Sherlock asked, going down to help John up. He put his hands under the teen’s armpits and lifted him up with a grunt.

“N-Nothing,” John said, his face turning bright red. _Could you be any more obvious, you idiot?_

With a hand at his back, Sherlock ushered John up to the second floor. Something started burning in John’s eye when they arrived in Sherlock’s room. _Oh God, it’s those fucking contacts. They must have gotten messed up when I fell._ The slight irritation was growing into a burning pain, and John knew he couldn’t stand it much longer.

“I, umm, I need to go to the bathroom,” John said nonchalantly, heading in that general direction. He thought he was scot-free when Sherlock had to ruin everything.

“You should really take them out and wash them.”

John stopped so fast, his forward momentum almost tipped him flat on his face. “W-What?” _Please don’t know, please don’t know!_

“Those contacts you are wearing. You’re not supposed to sleep with them in. Didn’t Irene tell you that?” Sherlock said, as if they were talking about nothing more than the weather. He took his shirt off, exposing a taut pale torso that John had to avert his eyes from before his lower regions decided to come out and play.

“I don’t,” John rubbed his eye, “I don’t know what you’re talking about Sherlock. I just got something in my eye, that’s all.”

“What did they tell you to do? Spy on Mycroft and me? Murder us in our sleep?” The man laughed as he spoke, resulting in a growl from John. He could kill them if he wanted to, hell he could do it while they slept, easily.

“What’s so funny?!” John shouted at the laughing man. “Even if they did tell me to kill you, which they didn’t, because nobody is talking to me through these contacts, but if they were I could kill you and your stupid brother.”

“Well,” Sherlock said, sliding off his trousers and pulling on a new pair of dress ones. “You are right about one thing, John.”

“What’s that?”

“My brother is stupid.” Sherlock grinned, always happy to rag on his brother’s weight or intelligence.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” John said, turning his back and walking into bathroom. His eye felt like it was on fire now and he needed to get it out. John gripped the contacts and pulled them off, his eye feeling loads better already.

“John, both you know and I know you wouldn’t kill us in our sleep. You’re not a killer; you proved that when you took that nurse hostage and then cried because you almost hurt her.”

The Sub looked down at the clear pieces of plastic in his hand. They felt heavy, like a weight on his shoulders that he couldn’t get off no matter how hard he shrugged. The Resistance had their barbs in him, just like the Holmes’ had their own stuck right in the back of John’s neck.

“How long have you known?” John asked, ashamed that he had failed, _again._

“I saw her go into your hospital room. She’s a well-known member of the SR and you live with two men who are pursuing ground breaking work in helping Subs with RDD. Not too complicated, John.” Sherlock, in fresh clothes, brought some in for John to wear.

The teen sighed and braced his hands on the counter. _What if I just hit him in the head and ran. I could probably make it out the back door and never have to deal with this stupid shit again._

“John,” Sherlock said, placing a hand in the middle of the Sub’s back. “I’m not mad, neither is Mycroft. We know what kind of pressure you’re under and I’m sure Irene was pretty persuasive in her little sales speech-” 

“Why?” John interrupted, “why didn’t you say anything until now?”

“Well,” Sherlock grabbed the hem of John’s shirt and lifted it up over his head, and strangely enough, John let him. “I was worried you were going to get an eye infection,” he smiled as he inspected the collar on John’s neck for any irritation.

“No, seriously,” John told him, a shiver running through him at every touch.

“Seriously, I wanted you to come to your own conclusion. You would realize the people who really care about you are the ones in this house, not those poor Subs who can’t feel bliss.”

“Poor Subs?” John asked, turning around to face Sherlock, his bare chest brushing up against the Dom’s purple dress shirt.

“You don’t know anything about them, do you John? A woman comes into your room and says she wants you to spy on us, and you do it?” Sherlock brushed his hand over the close cut hairs on his neck. “What did she offer you in return, hmm?”

“She…she,” John thought back to his meeting with the strange woman and realized that Sherlock was right, she didn’t offer him anything.

“John, those people are nothing but your little gang on a larger scale. They’ve been scrounging around for years trying to find a way to get ahead in life. And once they heard about you, they latched on to you like leeches.” Sherlock lowered his hand to the curve in John’s back. “They need help, just like you lot did. Aren’t your friends better off now that-”

“Stop trying to Dom me!” John shouted, pushing Sherlock away, hard. “At least she didn’t try to manipulate the chemicals in my body.” John threw the contacts in the trash. _I’ve had just about enough of this shit._ He thought he could trust Irene, at least more than Sherlock, but in truth he barely even knew the lady. To make matters worse, he had been on morphine when he talked to her and his logical mind hadn’t been working that well. The Resistance gave him something to believe in, but now…well, now he didn’t know what to believe in.

“John, I understand that you’re upset, but-”

“Just…just don’t talk to me for a little bit, okay?” John pulled down his pants and pulled on a new pair, used to Sherlock seeing him naked by now.

The taller man opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again and nodded his head in honor of John’s request. Sherlock left the room, and John felt both happy and sad about being alone in the room. With all his frustrations built up, John hit the wall with an open hand. The loud smack resonated through the small room, as did the stinging in his palm.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked John, but remained in the bedroom to give the Sub his space.

“Yeah.” _No._  John said and pulled his shirt and trousers on. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. The Resistance gave him one more mission; to expose Mycroft and Greg. _What happens after that though? I screw up the life of someone who houses and feeds me? If I don’t have a place to go, then he’s going to send me to the auctions. Plus, both of them saved my life. Holy Jesus Fuck! I don’t know what I’m supposed to do._

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Sherlock told him when he stepped out of the bathroom. The Dom quickly strode over to him and placed his hands on either side of John’s head, making his thumbs meet just between John’s eyebrows. He started massaging the area, forcing John’s face to relax in the process. “Stop thinking so hard and the answer might come.”   

“Yeah, what do you know?” John said sarcastically, but his eyes had fallen closed and most of his weight was being supported by leaning into Sherlock.

“Everything.” Sherlock’s smile could be heard in his voice. “Now, let’s go see Jim, shall we?” Sherlock pulled the teenager so he was tucked under his arm as they walked, and for that moment, John’s mind was cleared by a mild scent of coconuts and cinnamon.


	6. I'm Your Puppet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John visits Jim. Things do not go as Sherlock planned. There is something Mycroft isn't telling us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!
> 
> This chapter is un-beta'd so please forgive the mistakes :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 6 – I’m Your Puppet

John let Sherlock wrap him up in a brand new wool coat. The key word, being ‘let,’ as John could have punched the Dom in the gut and put on his own damn coat, thank you very much. It just seemed easier this way, though, to just hold his arms out and let Sherlock pull the warm material over him.

“That’s a good boy,” Sherlock told him and petted his head like a dog. John would be lying if he said it didn’t feel good, but the bitter taste in his mouth caused by the degrading act made the whole experience a negative in John’s book. Sherlock, as always, placed his hand on the back of John’s nape, just above his collar, as they walked out the door.

Mycroft was already in the car when John climbed inside, and was then sandwiched by the Holmes brothers. “I see you two took your time,” Mycroft sighed and pinched his brow as he looked out the window.

“Sorry,” John apologized before he could stop the words from coming out of his mouth. John realized he had been doing that a lot lately, but had no idea why he was losing control of his words and actions. He had been lowering his head, saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ or ‘sorry’ way too much.

The warmth radiating off the two men next to him was starting to make John sweat, but there was nowhere for him to go. He decided to break the silence and try to throw Mycroft for a loop. “So-”

Mycroft sighed again and readjusted his arm in the sling, wincing as he did so. “Must we turn this peaceful drive into an inevitable shouting match? I am really not in the mood today, John.”

“You promised you would tell me about Anthea if I was good. And I was. So spill it, Mycroft, how is she a free Sub?”

“Watch your tone, boy,” Mycroft told him, narrowing his eyes. John subconsciously moved sideways, farther into Sherlock’s side.

“You did promise him, Mycroft,” Sherlock said, lifting his arm up and around John’s back, tucking the Sub close.

“She was purchased and then freed. There is nothing more to say.” Mycroft actually turned up his nose, lifting his chin, to avoid eye contact with John.

“By who? What kind of Dom actually frees a Sub. I mean, I know they can, but why?”

“None of that is important. Anthea is an exceptional employee, Dom or Sub.”

“So she’s a freed Sub, but she still works for you?” John paused, trying to think of one reason he would stay with Mycroft if he didn’t. “What’s wrong with her?”

Sherlock snickered under his breath, only stopping when Mycroft looked at him over John’s head. “Loyalty, John,” Sherlock said, squeezing John’s arm.

“Loyalty? To you?” John asked, confused.

“She owes Mycroft her life. He purchased her at the auction house,” Sherlock told him.

“But I thought you said I was your first Sub?”

“You are,” Mycroft told him, “I signed her emancipation papers the same time I bought her. She was mine for a mere five seconds.”

“Wait,” John said, sitting forward to look at Mycroft’s face better. “You’re the Dom who freed her? Why?!” _Why are you keeping me then?_

“That is none of your business, John. And I will ask you to not bring this up to Anthea again. She is very busy and does not have time for your teenage meddling.”

“But-”

“Never again,” Mycroft told him, fixing him with a glare that made John shrink back into his seat.   

“Yes, sir,” John mumbled and began playing with the loose strings on his coat sleeve. The rest of the ride was silent, save for Sherlock’s humming and talking to himself about experiments.

When they arrived, both Sherlock and Mycroft remained in the car, blocking John in the middle. “What?”

“John,” Sherlock hesitated, then pulled out a leather lead.

“No! No way, Sherlock,” John tried to scoot back, but ended up completely on Mycroft’s lap, which was even more awkward than being on Sherlock’s.

“It’s just until we get to the room, John. We can’t have a Sub wondering around in a Sub rehabilitation center. Please,” Sherlock offered, holding out the lead to John’s neck.

John shook his head and tried to discreetly open the door behind him, in hopes of…well, he really didn’t know what he would do if he got out of the car. Mycroft sensed his movements though, and wrapped his good arm around John’s stomach, squeezing just on the wrong side of pain. “Oh no you don’t,” he said. “I’ve got him Sherlock. Go ahead.”

John would be forever ashamed that he couldn’t squirm out of a one arm hold by a 30 something businessman. “No!” John tried one last time, but Sherlock only grabbed his head to hold him still, then clipped the lead to his collar.

When it was all over, Mycroft loosened his hold and pushed John into the seat next to him.

“There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Sherlock asked, wrapping the loop at the end around his wrist. He opened his door and got out, pulling slightly on the lead for John to follow. It tugged on his collar, sending a jolt of pain through the back of his neck. It was a welcome feeling though, pain, as it helped him clear his mind nowadays.

John walked next to Sherlock with his head down in embarrassment, while Mycroft walked a few steps ahead, confident that the Sub couldn’t attack his blind spot. John just burrowed farther into his toasty jacket and tried to ignore that he was being led by a piece of leather.

A burst of warm air hit them as they entered the building. A woman at the front desk nodded to Mycroft, then picked up the phone. “Mr. Holmes is here for his meeting with Jim Moriarty. Okay, I’ll send them right in.” She hung up the phone, glancing momentarily at John, then back to Mycroft. “He’s ready for you, Sir.”

“Thank you. This way, John,” he motioned for them to follow. John didn’t move until he felt the firm tug, then, coming out of his thoughts, the teen trailed behind.

“John, you need to understand that Jim isn’t the same person he was when he shot Mycroft. He has a second generation collar on now, so he can feel bliss, feel happiness.” Sherlock told him as he unclipped the lead and opened the door.

John walked into a white room with a table and two chairs sitting opposite each other, in the center. There was a two way mirror, or at least John assumed it was two way, on one side of the room for the Doms to observe them. Jim was leaning against a back wall, playing with his fingernails. When he looked up to see John, his face lit up like he hadn’t seen the other boy for years.

“John!” he shouted and ran over to the blonde teenager, gripping him in a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I was so worried.” He pulled back to look at the slightly taller boy, his face turning from happy to sad in an instant. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, John.”

“Hey,” John patted his arm, “it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m just so happy to see you.”

“Me too,” Jim’s smile returned.

“What is this?” John asked, pointing to the large black collar around Jim’s neck. He turned the boy around to expose the large patch of metal stemming from his hairline down to his first vertebra. The collar connected the two silver pieces, making Jim look like he had a giant metallic leach stuck to his neck. “My God,” John whispered as he stroked his fingers gently over the device.

“That’s his collar, John,” Sherlock said from the doorway. “It’s still very sensitive, so be careful.” With that, the Dom left the room and closed the door, no doubt going to the observation room with Mycroft.

“Does it hurt a lot?”

“A little bit, but…” Jim broke contact with John and lowered his head. He walked back over to the table and sat down, a look of shame on his face.

“But what, Jim? It’s okay,” John assured him, taking the seat on the other side of the table.

“It’s worth it, I think,” he scratched his head, but still didn’t make eye contact with John.

“Worth it?” John asked, confused. He knew what it was like having a collar on his neck, and it most certainly was not worth it.

“I can…I can feel bliss now, John,” Jim finally looked up, his eyes twinkling a bit in the florescent lights. “It’s amazing. I…I just never knew.”

“You mean you like the collar?” John’s eyes went wide. He just couldn’t understand it. Bliss was nice, of course, but it took a piece of you every time. _I wasn’t even whole to begin with. I can’t afford to lose anymore of myself._

“Yeah, and-and John, guess what!” Jim’s smile would have reached the stars if it could have.

“What?” John asked, preparing for the worst.

“Greg said, if I do well at the conference and all my levels are good, he’ll take me in so I can be with Molly. Isn’t that great?!”

John didn’t answer. His mind was in an all-out war, and he didn’t know which side to choose. _If Jim gives up his freedom for bliss and a comfortable life with Molly, is that right? Is bliss worth all that? I’m safe, full, and warm with Sherlock, but I have to wear a lead when I go out. Can I accept that? Should I accept that? Fuck, I don’t know. It’s this stupid collar that’s messing up Jim’s mind, that’s messing up my mind._

John thought he was going to have an ally in Jim. Someone who shared his same fighting spirit for what was right. _But what is right?_ Now that the younger Sub had given in to the bliss and accepted the life he was told was his, John didn’t know what to do. Suddenly, his collar felt too tight. It was squeezing the life out of him and nobody cared as long as he followed orders.

“Get it off,” John whimpered, clawing at the leather around his neck. It pulled on his nape, but John didn’t care; he needed it off, now. “GET IT OFF!” John shouted and slammed his fist down on the table. He pulled at the lock with all his might, to free his throat from the suffocating burden.

“John, stop!” Jim shouted at him, but the boy could only sit in his chair and watch.

The next thing John knew, there were hand on his arms, forcing them to his side, and restraining them there by a giant bear hug. “Shhh, calm down,” Sherlock whispered into his ear. “You’re alright, you’re alright.” The Dom sat down in the chair and pulled John into sit sideways in his lap so the boy’s side was tucked against Sherlock’s chest and his feet hung over the man’s thighs.

“I want it off. Please-” John hiccupped a sob, “please take it off, Sherlock. I can’t breathe.”

“I need you to calm down, John, can you do that for me? Come on breathe with me, nice and slow.” Sherlock put one hand on John’s chest and the other on his back to feel the rapid rise and fall of the hyperventilating boy’s chest. “It’s okay. Breathe in and out, just like that, nice and slow. Good boy,” Sherlock praised when John’s breaths started to come easier and slower.

John felt the warmth on his side and the hand on his back as it brought him slowly back down to earth. Sherlock held onto him tightly, making John want to snuggle in deeper, but he knew he wasn’t supposed to. He did anyway.

“There we go,” Sherlock smiled down at the _pathetic_ teenager in his arms. “You’re alright.”

“I-I’m fine,” John was finally able to say. He squirmed a bit until Sherlock helped him off his lap. Standing up tall, John tried to pretend like he didn’t just have a panic attack over some stupid collar. His chest hurt and his lungs burned, but he very well couldn’t let Sherlock know that.  

“I’m sorry, John. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Jim said as a man came to take him out of the room. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

John could only nod his head and stare at the device on the back of Jim’s neck. He realized he had never seen his. Honestly, the thought had never occurred to him to see what was attached to his nape. It could look more intimidating than Jim’s and he wouldn’t even know it. _I can’t do this anymore. I’m so tired of fighting._

“It’s okay to be upset, John,” Sherlock told him, clipping the lead to his collar.

John wiped away the tears from his face when Mycroft came into the room. He waited for the Dom to say some smart comment, but it never came. Mycroft actually looked… _sad? Mycroft sad?_

“I just want to go home-I mean your guys’ place” John had tried to catch himself but it was too late; he had just called the Holmes estate, ‘home.’

“Sure,” Sherlock said, wrapping the lead around his hand and walking out of the room.

John followed behind, exhausted, confused, and angry. _Why is it so easy for Jim? He gets a new collar and he’s the happiest kid alive._ John cursed himself for envying Jim, who had seeming lost his will to live…no, not his will to live, his will to fight. Jim would have a comfortable happy life, while John was always on edge, waiting for the chance to run away. He was very good at running away after all.

They walked to the car in silence, with Mycroft cradling his arm close to his chest and Sherlock tugging every once in a while. John slid into the car easily, sighing when Sherlock unclipped the lead. His eyes began to flutter, but John tried desperately to stay awake. He hadn’t slept but two hours the night before. _It’s hard to sleep when you shoot your friend every time you close your eyes._

Soon, John’s shoulders were being pulled so his head lay in Sherlock’s lap. His feet were then lifted up to splay out over Mycroft’s thighs. “No,” John whined, but the warmth below him and the humming of the car had him out like a light.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft started, after assuring the boy was asleep. “Sherlock, you know what happened back there can’t happen at the conference.”

“I admit, I thought seeing Jim take so well to the collar would help John accept it as well. I did not foresee his panic attack.” Sherlock continued to card his hand through John’s hair.

“If he cannot be persuaded, then you know what needs to happen.”

“I’m not breaking him, Mycroft. Just give me one more day to reason with him. I know he’ll come around. He threw away his link to the Resistance; that has to mean he’s close.”

“Sometimes wild colts need to be broken if they are to succeed in their life’s endeavors.” Mycroft said, but smiled fondly at the teenager sleeping in his brother’s lap.

“Maybe,” Sherlock furrowed his brow, thinking of what would bring John over to their side without completely breaking him. “Maybe.”


	7. Take This Dirty Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes an important decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> This chapter is pretty dark, but it gets us were we need to be. The next chapter will be John at the conference, so that's always fun. 
> 
> Enjoy and thanks for all the kudos and comments, they really make my day. Thanks to TPurr for beta'ing this chapter(:

Chapter 7 – Take this Dirty Water

John woke up with his head on a soft, warm lap and a soothing hand running down his arm. He blinked a couple of times, clearing his vision, then decided to tell Sherlock to stop touching him. He opened his mouth…or, at least he tried to open his mouth, but it seemed something was stopping him.

John shot up and pressed his hands to his mouth, feeling skin that had formed a barrier over the opening. “Mmmm,” John screamed at Sherlock, who had a kind smile on his face. It was as if the man didn’t even care John had somehow grown an organic muzzle.

“Shh, John, it’s alright.” Sherlock cooed to him as he petted a hand though John’s blonde hair. “This is for the best. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

John screamed again, and screamed, and screamed, and screamed against the skin keeping his voice from being heard. _This can’t be real. This can’t be real. This can’t be-_

“John! John, wake up!” Someone was shaking him roughly until finally he opened his eyes and saw Sherlock staring down at him. John thrashed, reaching up to feel his face, and moving to sit up. “You’re okay,” Sherlock said softly, placing a hand on John’s spine and rubbing up and down.

“Fuck,” John panted out, putting his head in his hands and breathing deeply with his newly liberated mouth.

“What was that all about?”

“N-Nothing,” John lied, wiping the single tear that had leaked out.

“That was not nothing,” Mycroft said, fixing John with a worried look.

“I’m fine, just-”

“Just what?” Sherlock asked.

For a moment, John thought about telling the two Doms about his nightmare. _Maybe they can make it better. No, John, what are you thinking? They’ll send you to a shrink._ “It’s nothing.”

“Alright,” Mycroft told him, patting John’s thigh gently before opening the car door and stepping out. John hadn’t even realized they were stopped, but went to follow the Dom nonetheless. He was halted by a hand on his shoulder though, and turned back around to look at Sherlock questioningly.

“I want to show you something,” the man said, pulling John back to sit next to him.

“What?”

“You’ll see.” Sherlock gestured for the driver to go as soon as Mycroft closed the door.

Still shaken by his nightmare, John was actually quite frightened by the unknown nature of what Sherlock wanted to show him. The man could be taking him to the Thames to throw him in and not help him out this time. Or perhaps he was taking him to the kennel; after all, John had been a right pain in the arse lately.

“You’re not taking me to the kennel, are you?” John asked nervously, putting his head down, not willing to look at Sherlock.

Sherlock reached over and gripped John’s chin and tilted his head to the side to meet Sherlock’s light blue eyes. “I am never going to sell you, trade you, or have you put down, is that understood?” He shook John’s chin slightly to add emphasis to his words.

John only nodded in the grip, then averted his eyes. After a moment, Sherlock let go and placed an arm around John, pulling him in close whether the teenager liked it or not. They sat that way until the car finally stopped and Sherlock clipped the ever-dreaded lead to his collar.

“It’s very important that you stay calm in this place,” he told him, a serious look on his face.

“’Kay,” John nodded, the lead not feeling as bad as it did before. _Oh crap, I’m actually getting used to this fucking thing._

“Let’s go,” Sherlock said, tugging slightly on the lead and stepping out of the car.

When John stepped out he realized where they were. “Sherlock, no!” John’s voice was shaking as he pulled on the lead with both hands. There was no way he was going into the kennels, no fucking way!

“It will be alright, John. I need you to see what happens to Subs with RDD, who do not have a collar.” Sherlock held the lead tight, not giving John a centimeter as the boy tried to get back in the car.

“Please, Sherlock, I don’t want to go in there,” John whined. He just knew Sherlock was trying to trick him into being calm so he could leave him in that place.

“John,” Sherlock sighed as he walked up to the Sub. John was pulled into a warm hug that made him want to put his arms around Sherlock and reciprocate. He didn’t though; John just stood there dumbly, letting Sherlock wrap his arms around him. “I’m not going to leave you for one second while we’re in there. You mean too much to…” Sherlock paused for a moment, “to our cause. We could never lose you, John, never.”

It made John feel somewhat better hearing that he couldn’t be replaced, but not better enough to want to walk up to the gallows. Sherlock let go and began walking towards the building, keeping the lead tight. John tried to stand his ground, he really tried, but Sherlock was much, much stronger. He stumbled a bit as his feet were forced to move, but soon John was walking as close to Sherlock as possible and resisting the urge to grab hold of his coat.

When they entered the building, John kept his eyes down, not wanting to upset any Doms in this place. If he ticked off somebody in here, he could get the shot the next day. “Ah, Mr. Holmes, Jeremy said you’d be stopping by,” a woman said. John only saw her feet, but she was wearing black heels that shined with the florescent lighting.

“Yes, I’d like to take my Sub on a little tour.”

“Of course, of course,” the woman said. “A little deterrent for some of that naughty behavior, yes? We get that a lot around here.” _Oh dear God, please help me._

“Something like that,” Sherlock said. John could tell the man was looking at him, but the Sub still couldn’t find the courage within himself to look up and make eye contact.

“Very well, would you like a guided tour? Or if you’d like, you can just follow the white line and it will take you to everything you need to see to straighten up that boy of yours.”

“We’ll follow the line. Come along, John,” Sherlock said, tugging on the lead as he walked towards a hallway with a white line on the floor.

“Sherlock, please,” John begged quietly. “I promise I’ll be good, just please let’s get out of here.”

“No John, you need to see this,” was all Sherlock offered.

They went through a door to enter a room that John only saw in his nightmares. It was similar to a dog kennel; in fact, it was exactly like a dog kennel with bigger cages. There were rows and rows of metal cages with naked Subs, young and old. Whines and cries filled the air, as did a stench of sweat and fear as the Subs waited for their time to come.

John felt his stomach tighten in a knot so tight he thought it would never come undone. _This could be me. Oh God, this could be Molly!_ John whined deep in his throat and gripped Sherlock’s arm for dear life. Now that they were in the depths of Hell, John wouldn’t let go of his Dom for anything.

“Sherlock, I don’t want to be here,” John said, his voice breaking as tears threatened to fall. The man avoided eye contact though, and ignored John’s pleas.

As they walked through the row of cages to get to the other side, John learned what desperation and hopelessness truly were. The terrified eyes that peered up at him shifted something inside John. He understood what kind of horrors went on behind closed doors. He understood what cruelty truly was. He understood why the collar could save so many lives. He understood.

Sherlock opened the door and John followed through to end up back outside. John looked around in confusion until his foot hit something hard. Looking down, John saw a white stone slab  with a rounded top. His breath was knocked out of him when John read what was inscribed on the tombstone. ‘Sub Dale Halbury, Died at age 16.’

“No,” John whispered, when the name changed to ‘Sub John Watson, Died at age 16’ written on the white stone. He looked up to see hundreds, if not thousands of tombstones spread across the field.

“This is what inevitably happens to Subs with RDD, John. If they don’t have someone who is willing to take care of them, then they are sent here. They can’t be put to work, because they don’t follow orders. They-”

“I get it,” John snapped, his eyes filling with tears until the seal broke. Wet streaks spread down his face in jagged lines. He fell to the ground, his knees crunching in the slight frost that covered the grass. “I get it,” he cried, pressing his fingers into his thighs and bowing his head in front of the deceased teenage Sub.

“I’m sorry I had to bring you here, John. I truly am,” Sherlock said, laying a hand on top of John’s head. “We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

John sniffed a few times, the cold doing nothing to help the snot pouring out of his nose. “I’m sorry,” he said to the tombstone. He ran his hand over the white stone, his fingers tracing the grooves that spelled out the boy’s name. John was sorry for all the Subs who had died because they couldn’t feel bliss. What Doms were doing might not be right, but John knew the first step was to make sure no more Subs died because of the way this stupid world was set up. It was John’s job to protect the Subs who were still alive, then he would worry about the resistance.

“I’ll…I’ll help you,” John said, finally looking up to make eye contact with Sherlock. The Dom smiled down at him, though his smile wasn’t a triumphant one, more melancholic than anything.

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock said as he placed a hand under John’s armpit and lifted the boy up. “Let’s go home.”

John nodded, happy to have a place to call home.         


	8. Burn Down the Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conference does not go as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who has either commented or left kudos. They really make my day. Also, I apologize for the evil cliffhanger in advance :( 
> 
> Thanks again to TPurr for an awesome edit job.   
> Enjoy!

Chapter 8 – Burn Down the Mission

One day later

John stood in front of a long full body mirror trying to figure out how to tie his damn tie. Sherlock had provided him with a blue dress shirt, black trousers, shiny black shoes, and an infuriating black and dark blue striped tie. He had buttoned up every button, remembered to zip up his trousers, and now all he had to do was finish it off.

Just as he was about to give up and throw the silky fabric across the room, Sherlock appeared behind him and grabbed his hands. “Let me help,” was all the man said before he took the material in hand and began looping it in and out of itself. John felt the warmth of Sherlock on his back, and that strange feeling of safety mixed with danger ignited his nerves. “You look very handsome, John,” Sherlock said when he was all done. He patted the Sub’s chest, then backed away.

“Erm, thanks,” John murmured, a blush staining his cheeks pink.

“Come on, let’s get some food in you before Lestrade picks us up.” With a heavy hand on his shoulder, John walked down to the kitchen to find Mycroft eating a bagel with butter.

“Good morning,” Mycroft said, looking up from his bagel. His arm was out of its sling, but he still held it to his body, protecting it. He looked over John and Sherlock carefully, until finally, he approved and nodded his head. “It will need to be a quick breakfast. Lestrade will be here in five minutes.”

Not thinking, John grabbed the buttered bagel on his/Sherlock’s plate and took a bite out of it. His eyes grew wide when he realized what he had done, but by the look Sherlock and Mycroft gave him, the damage was already done. _Damn it, John! Wait, why is it my fault? I should be able to pick up my own damn bagel._

“Put. The. Bagel. Down,” Mycroft told him, standing up from his seat.

“Mycroft, I-” John tried to defend himself, but backed away when the tall Dom took a step towards him.

“While I do believe you when you told Sherlock you would be a good boy and help us, it seems your natural teenage impulses will always get the better of you,” Mycroft said, but John didn’t sense any anger in the man’s voice, only sadness.

“Mycroft, he’ll be fine,” Sherlock told him, but Mycroft just glared at him as only he could.

“We cannot risk it, Sherlock. Go get the straps.”

“No, please,” John cried. _I only took one bite! Please!_ “I can do it. I won’t mess up, I promise,” the Sub pleaded, even as Sherlock left the room to find the restraints John had been tied up in after he bit Mycroft.

“John, you must realize that this is going to help you. If you misbehave in front of all those people, I will be forced to punish you. This way,” he motioned to the brown leather hanging from Sherlock’s hands, “we won’t have to worry about that.”

“Not the muzzle, please not the muzzle,” John begged again, feeling that one bite churn in his stomach.

“Very well,” Mycroft said. “But if you lose control of that tongue of yours just once, Sherlock will put it on quicker than you can even apologize, is that understood?”

“Yes,” John mumbled, and looked down at the ground.

“Yes, what?” Mycroft asked, keeping his eyes glued to John until the Sub gave in.

“Yes, Sir.” Strangely enough, the words didn’t taste as bad as he thought they would.

“Good boy. Go ahead Sherlock.”

“This is for your own good, John,” Sherlock said as he positioned himself behind the Sub. He started with the two wrist restraints, clicking them into place. Then, he used the chain linking the leather together to position the second pair of leather cuffs just above John’s elbows, ensuring the teens arms stayed motionless behind his back. Finally, he snapped the chest harness in place, connecting it to the leather and delicate chains.

John squirmed for a moment, panicked by not being able to move his arms. He was so vulnerable like this, having his chest pushed out and presented for everyone to see.

“Does it hurt anywhere? Is it too tight?” Sherlock asked, inspecting his work.

“No,” was all John could say. He had to keep reminding himself of those poor souls at the kennels. _I’m doing it to save Subs. I’m doing it to save Subs._  

“Good.” Sherlock absentmindedly stroked a hand though John’s hair before he went over and picked up the bagel. He held it to John’s lips. The teen looked at him wearily for a moment, feeling the leather rub against his skin. Deciding he was more hungry than angry, John took a bite, which was washed down by a big swig of milk that Sherlock brought to his lips.

When the doorbell rang, Mycroft was the first to head towards the door. He opened it to reveal Greg and two other men in suits. “Ready to go, then?”

“Yes, John is just finishing his breakfast,” Mycroft told him, motioning for John and Sherlock to follow. “Are the other Subs being taken care of?”

“As we speak,” Greg told him. The grey haired Dom opened up the car door for everyone to pile in. John took his customary seat between Sherlock and Mycroft. He scooted and grunted until Sherlock had to push him into the correct spot. Greg got in after Sherlock, sitting opposite the three. Looking John over, Greg tilted his head, looking at Mycroft for answers.

“It will be for the best. I don’t want to shock him in front of all those people,” Mycroft told him.

“Gee, thanks,” John rolled his eyes, but was sent into a coughing fit when Sherlock elbowed him roughly in the ribs. Greg gave a one sided smile, then lowered his head to text something into his phone.

“That does not mean you have immunity to do as you please. You will not speak unless spoken to, and even then, you will refer to your Doms for the answer. You will not squirm, you will not fidget, and you ‘will’ stay by Sherlock’s side the entire time we are in there. Is that understood?”

“I’ll do my best,” John said, because he would do his best to behave in front of all the pretentious Doms. Could he do it? Well, that was another matter entirely.

“No, you ‘will’ do as I say!” Mycroft’s voice rose, as did his anger. “Now, is that understood?”

John thought about balking, he even knew what he would say, but this wasn’t about him. No, this day was about those Subs in the kennels. “Yes, sir,” John said, hunching his shoulders over and leaning back as far as he could without cutting off circulation to his hands.

“Good.”

The tension hung thick in the air. This was only the second time John had seen Sherlock nervous, the first being when John and Mycroft almost drowned in the Thames. It pulled at something deep down inside of John, something that told him to lay his head on Sherlock’s shoulder to comfort him. The teenager wasn’t going to do it, or at least that’s what he’d planned. Now though, his head was resting gently on Sherlock’s shoulder, and his body was pressed up against the Dom’s side.

It felt good, it felt right to have his arms tied behind his back so he didn’t have to worry about doing anything. It felt right to have his face pressed up against his Dom. It just felt right. With a smile on his face, John closed his eyes and breathed in clean scent of Sherlock’s clothes.

“John? John? He sure sleeps a lot, doesn’t he? Is he sick?” Greg asked.

“His body is changing and producing more dopamine than it has in fifteen years. He’ll be fine once his body gets used to creating bliss.

“’M fine,” John said groggily, his mouth not working quite right. Sherlock chuckled and pushed John’s head back up so he could get out of the car.

“We pulled around back, so the reporters won’t hound us before we get into the building,” Greg said, moving to open the door. “Ready?”

“Let’s get this over with,” John said before being pulled out of the car by Sherlock. The tall Dom wrapped his hand around John’s nape and drove them forward to a back door.

“Just breathe and stay calm, John,” Sherlock whispered to him before he opened up the door to reveal a massive room. There were at least two hundred white chairs in rows leading up to a large table with a red cloth hanging over it and seven chairs behind it.

“Holy crap,” John whispered when he saw a glass box the size of a living room sitting over to the side of the room.

“There you are, sir,” Anthea walked up to them, a stack of papers in her hand. “It’s time for the meet and greet. I think it best if you stand by the door with John in between you and Sherlock.”

“Yes, I believe that is for the best,” Mycroft said, motioning them over to the door of the massive room.

As if releasing the gates, a stampede of men and women began flooding the main hall, and slowly making their way to the three men.

“Oh Mycroft, darling,” an old woman said, shuffling up to the Dom. John kept his eyes down, which was why he noticed the teenage girl huddled at the woman’s feet. She was about Jim’s age and completely naked, save for a collar and lead around her neck. _What the fuck kind of Dom are you, you bitch!_

John’s skin started to heat up with all his pent up anger and rage, but thankfully, Sherlock kept an ever calming hand on his neck. Whether it was to make sure John didn’t leap at anybody or to help sooth him, John didn’t know, but it helped nonetheless.

“And who is this handsome little thing?” she said, moving to cup John’s cheek. _God bless Sherlock Holmes._ His Dom stepped in and pulled John into his chest and away from the old ladies hand.

“This is our new Sub, John. He was given the first generation collar.”

“Oh, well isn’t that lovely. Have you bedded him yet?” she asked, pulling slightly on her lead to make sure her Sub was still there.

John gulped audibly and moved closer to Sherlock, basically attaching himself if he was able. _Bedding? Sherlock wouldn’t do that, right? He said he wouldn’t, but…_

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Dunlap, but we do have many guests to get through.” Mycroft saved the day, as John thought Sherlock might punch the old bat.

“Oh, of course dear, we’ll have to catch up later. I’m sure our pets would like a little play date.”

“Oh my God,” John whimpered to himself, thankful that Sherlock held him close, protecting him from all the Doms.

As time went on, John watched every single Sub go by. Some crawled, some walked with their heads hung low, but the one thing John did notice… _they’re all clean and I didn’t spot one bruise. But they’re…but they’re treated like pets. High class pets, but pets nonetheless._

Many Doms who passed by cooed at John, others only sneered, and some completely ignored him. It was long and tiring, and John just wanted to go sit down.

“You expect me to believe this rebel is tamed? Why is he tied up?” the last man in line asked, lifting his nose into the air.

“Believe it or not, John requested his current bondage. He said it makes him feel safer to rely on his Doms, and the straps help with that.” Mycroft said, running a hand through John’s hair.

“Is that so, boy?”

John jumped for a moment, startled at being asked a question. Doing as instructed, he looked up at Sherlock, who nodded.

“Y-Yes, sir,” John said, not meeting the old man’s gaze. His body was a giant bundle of nerves, making his entire body shake

“Hmm,” the man said, stroking his chin, but eventually nodded his head a few times and went to take his seat in the conference hall.

“Well done, John, very, very well done,” Mycroft whispered, patting John on the back and giving him just enough bliss to make his feet and hands tingle with warmth.

“Good boy,” Sherlock praised him, before ushering him towards the large table at the front of the room. Having the bliss flow through his veins, John followed, his feet dragging along the carpet.

When they arrived at the table, Mycroft sat down next to a man who had a white doctor’s jacket and then Sherlock sat next to him. John was pulled into Sherlock’s lap, his legs hanging off the side of the man’s legs and his back supported by a long arm wrapped around him. “Okay?” Sherlock asked closed to John’s ear. John only nodded in response. Though Sherlock’s thighs were bony, there was something comforting about feeling the other man’s warmth enveloping him.

“Welcome everyone,” Mycroft spoke into the microphone in front of him. “As you know, our scientists have been working on a way to aid Subs with RDD for the past two years. Just within the last month, we have made giant leaps and have finally discovered a solution. We will have a demonstration for you after the Q and A portion. Without further ado, we will now be taking your questions.

John sat there, content that no one could hurt him while Mycroft answered questions about the new collar. Most of them were technical specifications, but John’s ears perked up when they were about him.

“So you took a feral Sub into your house, yes?” a woman from the crowd asked. “You weren’t afraid he would harm you in your sleep?”

Sherlock leaned forward, pulling the mic closer. “Subs with RDD are not criminals by choice. They are forced into theft and violence in order to survive after their diagnosis. So no, we did not fear our Sub because there was nothing to fear.”

John smiled slightly, remembering when he tried to stab Sherlock, twice. At that time he was so frightened, John thought he might have done anything if it meant his freedom. Now though, he sat perched on his Dom’s lap, bound and obedient. _What’s changed? Sherlock and Mycroft are still the same._

The mic was handed to a man in the audience who had a pen and paper in his hand. “This question is for John, if he may answer.”

“He may,” Mycroft said, turning to face John, giving him a pleading look.

“What was it like to feel bliss for the first time?” the man asked, then waited for John to reply.

John cleared his throat, his hands worrying Sherlock’s shirt sleeve behind him. “Well, umm, it’s kind of hard to explain. I guess at first I was scared and I…I tried to fight it, but it did feel amazing, like being in a hot tub. Now, umm, now I’ve become more used to it and it helps when I’m sad or, or hurt.”

After the man finished writing, he looked up at John. “So do you like being a Sub now?”

John looked over at Mycroft, his eyes wide. John didn’t know what to say. _Do I like it? Or do I just like Sherlock? Is it okay to like it? If I do, what does that mean? Should I just say I do? Will that help those poor Subs in the kennels?_ A maelstrom of questions filled John’s head, making him stutter out nonsense.

“John?” Sherlock asked, petting his arm and giving him a small amount of bliss, just enough to calm his mind. The audience gasped at the immediate change in the Sub sitting on Sherlock’s lap.

“I like…I like eating from Sherlock’s hand,” John heard himself say, his most private desire thrown out to hundreds of people carelessly.

The audience chuckled at John’s response and Mycroft patted the boy’s knee.

“So, John has the first generation collar, where it shocks him. But this new one can only provide bliss?” someone asked.

“Yes,” Mycroft answered, “we found that young John here responded best to positive reinforcement, rather than the negative.”

“I have a question for John,” a woman asked enthusiastically.

“Go ahead.”

“So John, the world wants to know what it’s like living with the two most powerful men in IBAD. Any juicy details you’d like to share?”

John became fully alert at that. He knew exactly what he was supposed to say at this point. Greg and Mycroft were having sexual relations, which would destroy both of their credibility. The man who took Molly in and treated her like the sweet girl she was, and the man who took John in, fed him, clothed him, and oh, not to mention saved his life.

John clenched his teeth together, his body stiffening in Sherlock’s lap. John always thought of himself as a good man, a man who did the right thing. But the question was now, what was the right thing. He owed a life debt to Mycroft, but he also promised the Sub Resistance that he would help them. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked at the woman square in the eye.

“No ma’am, I haven’t noticed anything ‘juicy.’ Sorry.”

John heard a deep sigh of relief from Mycroft next to him. John looked over to see a grateful look on the man’s face. The Sub inclined his head; they were even now. John felt a heavy weight lift from his shoulders, and now the Resistance will just have to find another way to prove Subs should be free. Right now though, John needed to focus on the collar, and saving as many Subs as possible.

“Well, that’s a shame,” the woman said and began walking towards the edge of her row. John watched as she left the building, wondering where she was going. Everyone found out a moment later when a loud boom echoed through the large room and the walls started to fly through the air.

The wall behind John exploded and debris knocked everyone at the front table onto the floor a few meters away. Half of the back wall was missing and large concrete blocks were scattered through the room. Although not hit directly, the ceiling began shaking and showering dust on everyone as they tried to flee the scene.

John groaned, and tried to roll over until sharp pain shot through his shoulder. It had been dislocated and there was no way he could put it back in socket with his restraints still on. “Sherlock!” John shouted at the unconscious man next to him. “Mycroft!” he tried, but the eldest Holmes was nowhere to be seen.

There was so much panic, as Doms and Subs alike sprinted for the exits or whaled in pain from injuries caused by the explosions. John could hardly see from all the dust and dirt settling in the air, but he tried to stand nonetheless. “Ahh!” John cried when he made it to a kneeling position.

“There he is!” a man yelled, and the next thing John knew two men lifted him up, one on his feet and the other on his torso.

“No! No, let me go! Sherlock!” John shouted at the top of his lungs. He tried to squirm out of their grip, but his shoulder hurt so badly, there was no way he could keep it up.

“Calm down, John. We’re here to help you, free you. We’ll take you to Irene, she’ll explain everything.”

“No, I don’t want to go! Sherlock!” he called to the motionless man. _Oh God, what if he’s dead?_ “SHERLOCK!”        


	9. Candle in the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets the Resistance and learns something new about himself, in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Since I left you guys with a pretty nasty cliffhanger, I thought I'd give you another chapter early. Plus, this chapter has an even worse cliffhanger, so again, please forgive me for my sadistic tenancies. 
> 
> Thanks to TPurr! She edited this for me extra quick this week, so double thank you, madam!

Chapter 9 – Candle in the Wind

“Get your bloody hands off me!” John shouted, but his words were muffled by the bag his captors had placed over his head. He was gingerly placed in what sounded like an idling van, before he tried to kick out again. A smile came across his face when he connected and his target gave a loud grunt.

“Calm down, John, we’re not going to hurt you,” a man said. His voice sounded gentle and sincere, but anybody who could blow up a building was neither of those things.

“John! John, is that you?” Jim shouted. John felt someone slide in next to him, making him cringe as his out-of-socket shoulder was jostled.

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay, Jim? Did they hurt you?” John asked as the car started moving.

“No, I’m okay. They hurt the Doms who were watching me pretty bad, though.”

“Who are you people? Why did you do this?” John asked, knowing that there were at least two other people in the back of the van.

“We’re the Resistance, John. We’re taking you to headquarters, where Irene will explain everything. We’ll get that shoulder of yours fixed, too.”

Jim huddled up next to John, putting his arm around his back and his head against the older boy’s good shoulder. “We’ll be okay, Jim. I promise.” And they were. The car ride took twenty minutes, which was none too gentle on John’s injury.

When the car stopped, a man took off both Sub’s hoods. John squinted for a moment, then opened his eyes wide to take in what was happening to him. The two men were brawny but shorter than Sherlock, and strangely enough, they just looked normal.

“Come on,” the red headed man said. He helped John stand up and follow Jim out the back of the van. The younger Sub looked terrified out of his mind and continued to wring his hands together nervously.

“It’s okay, Jim,” John whispered in his ear as they were led into a brick building. “They’re Subs too.” Jim calmed a little at that. The darker haired boy had been found naked behind a rubbish bin, so John could only imagine how much fear Jim had for Doms.

The inside looked just like an office building, but a bit grungier, as if the place was abandoned and then repurposed. “Irene’s waiting for you two,” the man said, keeping a hold on one of John’s straps, just in case the Sub tried to bolt. _I’m not a moron. Once I get my arm back in place, then Jim and I are out of here._

“Boys!” a silky voice purred to them as they were ushered into a large office. There were no pictures on the walls and only a three tier plastic filer on the desk, along with a laptop and a few pens. The back of the chair was facing John, bringing a smile to the boy’s face when it reminded him of The Matrix.

“Ms. Adler, Jim Moriarty and John Watson for you.”

“Thank you, Daniel,” she said, turning the chair around to face John. She still looked as beautiful and neatly put together as she did the first time John saw her in the hospital. “John, are you alright?”

John felt the blood drain from his face. The adrenaline in his body was starting to wear off, and the true pain from his shoulder was starting to kick in. “Please…my arm,” John moaned, bending over and trying not to throw up.

“John!” Jim shouted, putting a hand on his arm and looking at Irene to do something.

“Get those restraints off him, now!” Irene ordered, throwing a box knife at Daniel, who caught it and began cutting the leather cuffs immediately.

John felt tears in his eyes as he tried to breathe through the pain. His head started to feel a little light until Irene grabbed a hold of his cheeks, forcing John to look directly at her.

“John, focus on your receptor,” she said while the other man was still working on getting the restraints off.

“Wha-”

“You can create your own bliss. You don’t need some Dom to do it for you. Just concentrate, you can do it.”

John closed his eyes; the pain like a dagger splitting him open was in the back of his mind, preventing him from concentrating. He thought about the little bump on his neck. How it felt when Sherlock touched him on his nape. How his toes and fingers tingled and his tummy felt warm. And just like that, the horrible pain in his shoulder began to die down to a mere ache. _‘Good boy.’_ He heard Sherlock say to him.

“All done,” Irene said, placing a hand on John’s shoulder. The boy opened his eyes to realize he was out of his restraints and his shoulder was in its proper place again.

“How…” John asked dumbly, looking from Jim to Irene.

“He’s a natural,” Daniel said, a smile on his face.

“That he is.” Irene also smiled, then went around to sit behind her desk. “You created your own bliss, John. You stopped the pain.”

“But I…How?”

“With the Sub Resistance you will start to understand what it truly means to be a Sub, John.”

John and Jim exchanged a look of confusion and slight fear. The older Sub puffed his chest out slightly, putting on a confident façade. “Why did you blow up the conference? You killed so many people, Subs included!”

The woman’s face hadn’t changed since she sat down in her chair. She simply smiled at John with condescension, but there was something much more dangerous in her eyes. Leaning forward, she placed her hands flat on the desk. “John, there is much you don’t understand-”

“Then why don’t you try and explain it to me,” John spat. “You almost killed Jim, me, and my Doms!”

“Your Doms?” Irene asked, quirking her eyebrow. “John, I think that collar has gone to your head, sweetheart. Don’t worry, we have the proper medical equipment to take care of both your and Jim’s collar situation. Maggie,” she said, pressing a button on the phone on her desk.

Not a moment later, a woman entered the room with a lovely smile on her face. _All these people are so damn happy here._ “Yes, ma’am.”

“Can you have Jim taken down to medical? Tell them we have a generation two on our hands.”

“What?! No!” Jim shouted, unconsciously taking a step closer to John. “I want my collar. It…it makes me feel.”

“You don’t need that thing to help you feel, sweetie,” Irene told the panicking boy.

“John!” Jim turned his dark brown eyes to peer up at John, pleading with him. “John, please don’t let them take it off. I just want to be normal. I just want to go live with Greg and Molly. Please!”

Daniel grabbed hold of Jim’s arm and began pulling him out of the room, even though the boy started to kick and scream.

“Let him go! You can’t do this! He doesn’t want you to take it off!” John wrapped his arms around the bigger man’s arm and yanked, while his foot slammed down on Daniel’s. The older man seemed indestructible though and didn’t even flinch from John’s onslaught. “I’ll tell you who Mycroft is seeing,” John said without thinking.

Irene held up her hand, causing Daniel to set the youngest Sub down. “Oh?” she said, standing up and walking, _more like stalking,_ towards John.

“I’ll tell you, but I don’t want Jim to have any part of the Resistance. Let him go in front of the IBAD center where Greg Lestrade works, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Jim looked up at the older boy, then at Irene, hopefully. The woman’s smile broadened. “I like him,” she said to Daniel. “Okay, John, we will return Jim to his Doms. We have no use for a Sub who wants to stay chained.”

“Thank you,” John said, breathing a little easier now. He could understand why Jim wanted to go back. Hell, John wanted to go back. It was so much easier to let Sherlock take care of him and all the big decisions.

“Thank you, John, thank you,” Jim cried, wrapping his skinny arms around John and sobbing into his chest.

“But Jim,” Irene said, grabbing the boy’s shoulders and turning him around to face her. “If you so much as speak one word about this place, we will find you, and you won’t like what happens.”

“Hey!” John shouted, pressing at the woman’s shoulder to get her to back away from Jim. No one threatened his family. No one. “Cool it, lady. He’s not going to say anything, are you Jim?”

The boy shook his head quickly, still shaking from Irene’s earlier words. “Now take him home,” John said, sounding years older than he actually was.

“As you wish, John,” she said, caressing his cheek. “But I believe it is your turn to have medical remove your collar.”

“But I-” John started, but the look Irene gave him shut any argument down quicker than Mycroft could have. “Okay.”

“Come, I’ll walk with you,” she said, placing an arm around his shoulders. John didn’t like the way it felt. It wasn’t Sherlock’s large hand on his nape. It just wasn’t right.

As they headed downstairs, John started to panic. The last time anybody tried to remove his collar, John had almost bled out. Of course, it was a mad man who ripped it out of his spine, but still. “Do…Do I really have to do this?” John asked.

“Trust me, John, you will feel exceedingly better once we remove that little piece of hardware. It’s a very easy procedure and my people are more than capable.”

“How many have they done?”

“Five, I believe,” she said, as they reached the final flight of stairs.

“Why did you blow up the conference center, Ms. Adler?” John asked. He couldn’t even fathom being so angry at people that he would consider blowing them up. Hatred just wasn’t in his soul.

“Irene, please,” the woman said, patting John’s shoulder. “We needed to make a point, and be remembered. We were planning on doing that with your announcement, but since you didn’t play along, well…”

_Oh my God, so this is my fault? I could’ve stopped all those poor people from dying?_ John suddenly stopped, frozen in time and space, wondering why he seemed to always make the wrong decision. He tried so hard to do the right thing, fight the good fight, but everything seemed to go to shit in the end.

_I try to feed my friends; Molly and I get kidnapped. I try to get away from Sherlock; I end up becoming so dependent on him I can barely breathe without him. I try to do what Sherlock says; I get my spine ripped out. I try to give my friends warm food and a place to stay; someone gets shot and I almost freeze to death. I try to repay a debt and save two respectable men’s reputations, and people fucking die! What is wrong with you, John Watson?_

“John?” Irene asked, lifting his chin up a bit to see two glazed over eyes. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

A few tears escaped John’s eyes and traveled down his cheek, only to pool at his chin. “I don’t understand why I’m even here. What do you people even do?” John asked, actually stamping his foot in anger. The anger and sadness he felt towards himself was now being projected to the nearest target, which was Irene.

“We’ll talk about all this once you get your collar removed. I don’t know what kind of listening devices could be in there. Our magnetic field disrupts any trackers, but not audio.”

“Okay,” John said, turning on autopilot so he didn’t have to face what he was feeling right now.

When they entered the operating room, three doctors greeted him. “Why don’t you put on these scrubs for us, John?” John grabbed the pair of light blue scrubs and immediately started changing. He had changed in front of Sherlock countless numbers of times and was now immune to the embarrassment it used to bring him. The doctors seemed to ignore him and prepare their operating equipment, but Irene stared at him the entire time. An odd blush came to John’s cheeks and chest, but he just kept his attention on pulling up his trousers.

“Done? Good,” one doctor said. “Go ahead and hop up on the table, John. Now, do you think you can take care of your own bliss, or would you like some gas to help you out?”

“You’re about to perform surgery on my neck, and you want me to create my own bliss?” John asked, wide eyed as he climbed onto the table.

“Only give him a little bit,” Irene said, walking over to the head of the table. She put a hand on the back of John’s head as the boy got situated with his face through the hole in the headrest. “I want you to focus John, just like you did with your arm. Just breathe and focus on your receptor.”

Irene’s voice faded out as John did as instructed. He felt Sherlock holding him, cradling him in their bed. John loved waking up first thing in the morning when Sherlock was still unconsciously emitting bliss that the Sub just soaked up. Sherlock took care of him. Even when John didn’t want it, the man was always there for him, willing to offer as much bliss as the teenager wanted. It felt good. It felt safe. It made John feel whole.

John laid there in a light purple mist, feeling Sherlock’s hand on the back of his neck. It was just resting there, making sure John didn’t float off into non-existence. _‘That’s it, John. Good boy.’_ John shivered in pleasure, realizing that he was half hard just from thinking about Sherlock.

“That’s it,” someone said, “let’s move him to recovery.”

John groaned as he was lifted off one bed and put onto another, softer one. “Bring yourself out of it, John. Slowly,” Irene told him, running a hand through his sweaty matted hair. “Keep just a little bit, that’s it.”

John slowly opened his eyes, easily coming up from the weightless pool he was floating in. “I did it,” John beamed, still keeping some of the bliss floating through his body. Now that he knew what to do to take his pain away, John didn’t want to let it go.

“Yes, you did an outstanding job, John. I’m very proud of you,” she said, but there was always something off in her voice. Something John couldn’t quite pinpoint, but he definitely knew it wasn’t like Sherlock’s.

“Can you tell me now, why am I here?” John asked, feeling amazingly clear headed and ready for action. It seemed as if the bliss he created himself amped up his adrenaline and sharpened his senses almost.

“First, I believe you owe me some information on Mycroft Holmes.”

“Oh yeah, there’s nobody,” John said simply, praying to the Gods to just give him one little break.

“Nobody? But you said in your note that Mycroft had a mistress. Now who is it?!” she snapped. The recovery room they had taken him to was rather small, and now it was filling up with an aura that scared John beyond belief. He had no idea what this woman was capable of.

“I got my information from a six year old. It turns out there was nothing going on at all. I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to find another way to strike a blow.”

Irene’s eyes narrowed at the teenager in the hospital bed. Then, an eerie smile came to her face. “I see. Well, that is a shame. I was hoping the Holmes boys would be able to survive this war, especially that tall brainy one.”

“What do you mean?” John asked, sitting up in his bed, wincing when his bliss started to fade from worry.

“We’ve strategically placed sleeper bombs around the Holmes Estate. Now that we know there is no other way to bring them down, I’m afraid we are going to have to eliminate Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes.”   


	10. I'm Still Standing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and the Resistance don't see eye to eye. Jim gives Sherlock and Mycroft some bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,
> 
> Thanks so so much to my awesome beta, TPurr. If it wasn't for her expedited editing, y'all wouldn't have this chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 10 – I’m Still Standing

“What?!” John shouted, sitting up in his reclined hospital bed.

“It’s quite simple, dear. Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes are a vital part for the IBAD industry. If they are eliminated, IBAD will be crippled and that’s when we make our move.” Irene smiled at him, as if she hadn’t just proposed killing two men.

“And how are you going to do that, hmm? Blow up more buildings and kill more innocent people?” John had completely forgotten about his neck, causing an aching pain to linger around the spot where the doctors had removed his collar. The young Sub was furious, at Irene, and at himself for believing the Sub Resistance was able to save Subs. _No, these people are just bullies. You can’t win with violence, and if they try, they are all going to be put down quicker than they could ever imagine._

“Exactly, John. We will lay waste to the exact same place where Subs have been tortured and killed. There is no way they can stop us, not when we can create our own bliss to drown out theirs.”

“You’re…You’re crazy, that’s what you are,” John said. He had to get back to Sherlock, he would know what to do, and if he didn’t then Mycroft always knew what to do in dire situations. Mycroft saved his life for Christ’s sake, and these people almost killed him by blowing up an entire building. _Who am I going to choose? Hmm, let me think about that one for a second._

“John, I understand you’re fresh off the collar,” she said, reaching out to caress his face. John leaned back, instinctively avoiding her touch. “You’ll soon realize how the Holmes men altered your mind. You want to believe they are the good guys and we are the bad guys, because that’s what they’ve ingrained in your brain.”

“Good guys don’t blow up buildings and kill innocent people!” John snapped at her, curling in on himself. He didn’t want to be here anymore, but he had to find out more. That’s what Sherlock would do, right? Find out more so that these people could be stopped. _Or maybe…maybe I can try to convince them the collars are a good thing._

“Have you been to the kennels?”

“I have,” Irene told him, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

 “Me too. So I get what Doms have done, and I completely understand why you want to hurt them, but I think I have a better solution.” John said, using his ‘big boy voice’ as Mycroft so lovingly called it.

“Alright, John, tell me what your idea is,” Irene said, her tone indulgent.

“These second generation collars, they help Subs feel bliss, right? If all those Subs in the kennels are fitted with one, then they won’t have to be put down. It will save thousands of Subs around the world.” John couldn’t help the smile on his face. He just knew how important these collars were. All he had to do was look at Jim, who begged and pleaded to have it left on.

“Okay, then what?” Irene asked, though John could tell the woman had already made up her mind, and John could never convince her otherwise.

“Then, we talk to the Doms, peacefully. If we show them how we can create our own bliss, do you know how useful Subs can be? We can be soldiers, firefighters, police officers, anything! Subs don’t have to be taken care of anymore, and this just might prove it!” John said, excitedly. He had never fully thought it through before, but as he said it, it made perfect sense. Sherlock would probably even help him, and Mycroft too!

The woman merely gave him a sad smile and stood up. “John,” she said, her voice kind, as if talking to a child, “while I appreciate your idealistic youth, your naiveté will not help us win this war.”

“But-” John started, but was cut off by Irene holding up her hand.

“You will be taken to our safe house for the duration of our initial attacks. I’m sorry we couldn’t work together, John. Perhaps through the course of this inevitable war, you will come to understand what I am trying to do here.” Irene stood up and walked to the door, motioning for someone to come inside. A man and woman entered the room, and John knew what was about to happen.

“So I’m a prisoner of war now, is that it?” John asked, getting ready for a fight. He might be small, but damn it, he would never go down without a fight.

 “John, please, it doesn’t have to be this way. David and Amy will take good care of you. We don’t harm Subs.”

“Tell that to the Subs at the conference.” David, a man about twice John’s size, started to move towards John, while Irene left the room. Amy blocked the door for any quick escapes, but John thought he could get by her easily if he could only slip past her male partner.  “Fuck you guys,” John said before leaping off the bed and swinging at the man’s chest.

The blow hurt John’s hand more than it hurt David, causing the teenager to cradle his hand his chest. _They must be using bliss! Focus, John, focus!_ John tried to bring up images of Sherlock domming him, but during a fight it was hard to focus on anything other than being tackled. David grabbed John around the stomach and lifted him high into the air to land on the taller Sub’s shoulder.

“Hey!” John cried out, both his pride and stomach hurting from the swiftness of the man’s actions. Hitting and kicking didn’t seem to work either, even when John hit the man in the spine with his fist. “Let me go, you stupid ogre!” John yelled as they walked down the hall.

When they arrived outside, the woman put another hood over John’s face before David put him in the back of another van. _Damn it. How am I going to warn Sherlock? I have to get there in time to save them. I…I can’t lose him._

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Here you go, kid,” a man said, taking off Jim’s hood. He was standing outside Greg’s building, and thankfully he still had his collar on. With time not on his side, Jim sprinted up to the front door and ran inside to the lady at the front desk.

“Ms. Jameson, is Greg here?”

“Jim, sweetheart, what’s got you so worked up?” She asked, subconsciously trying to sooth the frantic Sub.

“Greg! I need to see him, please!” Jim shouted, a little out of breath.

“He’s with Mr. Holmes, I believe. Would you like me to ring him for you, dear?”

“Yes, yes, please,” Jim said, remembering what Greg told him about manners, and that it was easier to catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

“Hello, yes, Mr. Lestrade, I have Jim here at IBAD for you. Yes, I’ll put him on,” the woman said, handing John the phone.

“Greg?”

“Jim, are you okay? What happened to you?” The man’s voice was panicked. It strangely made Jim’s tummy warm to know that someone was worried about him, especially a Dom.

“They took us, me and John, they took us to their headquarters,” Jim said quickly into the phone. He had to hurry, had to get help for John, the only person who had ever sacrificed anything for his wellbeing.

“Who took you, lad?”

“The Resistance. They still have John, Greg, we have to go get him back,” Jim said, anxious.

“Okay, okay, we are headed to the Holmes place from the hospital. We’ll pick you up on the way. Just sit tight for me, Jim.”

“Okay,” the boy said, worrying his lip. There was just so much going on. He needed his Dom there. Jim had never realized how much he needed someone to take care of him, someone to make him feel whole.

“Jim?”

“Yeah?” Jim said, holding the phone back up to his ear.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” was all Greg said, before hanging up.

Jim couldn’t help the small smile that came to his face. Everything was going to be okay, now that Greg was coming to get him, it was all going to be okay. There was an empty chair against the wall that Jim plopped down in, waiting for his Dom. He kicked his heels against the wall until Ms. Jameson gave him a displeased look.

It took twenty minutes before a black car pulled up and Greg came running into the building. Before Jim knew it, he was being pulled into a hug that almost cut off his flow of oxygen. He was in a warm, safe embrace with soft words being whispered into his ear. “You’re alright. I’ve got you. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Greg kept repeating until he finally let the boy go and held him out at arm’s length. “Come on, let’s go,” he said, kissing the top of Jim’s head.

Jim felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes from the flood of emotion filling him. He had never been hugged like that before, hugged like he was the only thing that mattered at that single moment. Quickly reining his emotions back in, Jim followed Greg outside and into the car.

Sherlock and Mycroft sat on one side, while Greg sat on the other with Jim shuffling in behind him. “Jim, it’s good to see you are in good health,” Mycroft said, bowing his head slightly. The eldest Holmes had his arm in a sling and a large bandage over the top of his hand. _Why is he being so nice to me? I shot him for goodness sake._  

“Where did they take John?” Sherlock demanded. He had a large bandage over his left eyebrow and a dark bruise around his jaw and neck. The Dom seemed on edge, like he wanted to wring somebody’s neck.

“I…I don’t know. They blindfolded us until we got there,” Jim said, apologetically.

“That’s not good enough!” Sherlock shouted, slamming his hand down on the seat cushion.

Jim flinched, unconsciously scooting closer to Greg. “Jim,” Greg said softly. He gave Sherlock a look that didn’t seem to have any effect. “Jim, is there anything you can remember? Anything at all?”

Jim thought back to the scary lady threatening him, and the big guy who tried to drag him to medical to take his collar off. “I-Irene wanted to, erm…wanted to know who Mycroft was, erm…sleeping with,” Jim said, turning bright red.

“What?” Greg asked, his voice going up an octave. Jim shrugged his shoulders, remembering what John had promised her if she let Jim go.

“So that must have been why that reporter asked John about the ‘dirty details’ of our lives,” Sherlock said, stroking his chin. “She wants to bring you down, Mycroft. I’m assuming John knows, but will he tell her is the question.”

“That’s how I got away,” Jim said, feeling uncomfortable. “John promised he’d tell Irene if she let me go.”

A quick smile came to Sherlock’s face, but it disappeared just as quickly. “Yes, that does sound like our John.”

“We will have to prepare for damage control if what young Jim here says is true,” Mycroft said, looking at Greg. He reached out and grabbed the man’s hand, caressing the knuckles before they parted.

“Our first order of business is getting John back!” Sherlock snapped at his brother.

“Sherlock, they obviously are not going to hurt the boy. We will wait until an opportunity arises to get him back, I promise.”

“But-” Sherlock tried, but was stopped by a look from his older brother. Jim felt the tension in the air like a thick suffocating mist. He squirmed in his seat until Greg put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer.

“We will go back to the estate, regroup, and then act, Sherlock. We cannot go off halfcocked in this situation.”

Sherlock stewed for only a moment, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine, let’s go home.”           


	11. Someone Saved My Life Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's pissed and in more trouble than he knows. John sets in motion one of his brilliant master plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter. It is un-betad, so please forgive any mistakes.

Chapter 11 – Someone Saved My Life Tonight

Sherlock sat in the car, ignoring the trivial chattering between Lestrade and his brother. All Sherlock cared about right now, and all anyone should care about, was getting John back where he belonged. His hands felt cold without warm blonde hair to run them through or a soft neck to caress. It just wasn’t right how much this simple Sub made him feel so uneasy when John was gone. It just wasn’t right!

“Sherlock,” Mycroft said, touching his brother’s knee gently.

 “Huh?” he said, devoting half his attention to Mycroft while the other stayed on how he was going to get John back and what he was going to do to the people who stole him.

 “Look at me, Sherlock,” Mycroft insisted.

The younger Holmes clenched his hands together and looked at his brother, knowing exactly what he was about to say. _‘We’ll find him, Sherlock, don’t you worry.’_

Mycroft surprised him though. “John is a strong boy. He can handle himself until we find him.”

Sherlock stared at his brother, their eyes locking in the way it always had ever since they were children. They might have bickered and disagreed about virtually everything, but they understood one another. Both knew how hard it was to feel for someone, to care about them and then have them taken away.

“They didn’t hurt him, did they Jim?” Greg asked the boy who had a death grip on his suit jacket.

“No,” Jim paused thinking for a minute, “but they wanted to take off our collars.”

“Of course,” Sherlock said, tapping his finger to his lips. “They have no use for a Sub cured of their RDD.”

“They wanted to take mine, but John stopped them.” Jim stroked the metal collar around his neck, making sure it was still there and nobody had actually taken it.

Sherlock let a small smile fill his face for only a moment. He could just picture his John telling those rebels to ‘go fuck themselves.’ John didn’t back down, which was what Sherlock loved about him, but also made him fear for John’s life. Not everyone is as forgiving as Mycroft, and John was still too bullheaded to realize that.

“We needed to get the history report for Jim’s collar. We should be able to track where he was as long as the Resistance hasn’t take precautions for such a thing,” Mycroft said, removing his hand from Sherlock’s knee.

“No, they already have disrupters. Otherwise they wouldn’t have sent Jim back. These people aren’t that dumb.”

“Then how can we find them, Sherlock?” Greg asked, his voice a tad desperate.

“Jim said they wanted to take off their collars, then that means they would have to have some sort of medical facility.”

“That’s true,” Greg agreed, “they wouldn’t want to kill their new recruits.”

“I need the surveillance tapes from the conference.”

“Okay, we can do that. I’ll have them send it to your email,” Greg said.

The car finally came to a stop, and Sherlock was the first to get out. It felt stuffy inside the car, like he couldn’t breathe. _Why am I feeling like this? I’ve been in that car a thousand times._ There was something missing and Sherlock knew it, which pissed him off even more. John had no right! No right at all to make him feel so…so protective, _yes that’s the word_.

“Sherlock, come,” his brother ordered, as if Sherlock was a young Sub. Usually he would scoff and do the complete opposite to make a point that his older brother had no say in what he did, but right now, he needed to get to his computer and start going through the surveillance tapes. Sherlock lifted up his nose as he followed behind Greg towards the house.

Something felt a bit off, but Sherlock couldn’t quite place it. In the end he chocked it up to stupid John who had to go get himself caught, removing Sherlock’s one and only steady rock. _I’ll find you, John, if it’s the last thing I do._

.oOo.  

“If you don’t quit squirming around kid, I’m gonna handcuff you,” David said.

John immediately stopped moving on the bench, save for the slight shifting of his weight when the car turned. “Where are you taking me?” John asked through the hood over his head.

“You’ll see,” the tall Sub said. “Just behave and everything will be fine.”

John didn’t know what he was supposed to do. It felt like his heart was hanging over a grinder, just waiting to fall in and be chopped into little pieces. Sherlock and Mycroft were about to be blown up and there was nothing he could do about it, _nothing! What would Sherlock do? He wouldn’t just quit, right?_

John wracked his brain until his head hurt, but finally he came up with a Watson approved half-baked plan. _Well, I’ve got to try something._ So John put on his game face, and started groaning. “Please,” he whimpered, “please, my stomach.”

“What’s wrong, kid?” David asked, lifting John’s hood up so it sat on top of the younger Sub’s head.

“I think I’m going to be sick, please, please pull over,” John said, playing the part beautifully, if he did say so himself. He doubled over, clutching at his belly and shaking his head. For an added effect, he spit on the ground, following up with a good burp. _Perfect!_

“Umm,” the rebel said, starting to panic when John’s face paled. “Umm, Amy, I think you need to pull over for a tick. Don’t you dare throw up in this car, kid.”

John groaned again, louder than before. “Please, hurry,” John continued his whimpers until the car finally pulled over and David opened the back door.

“Move it, kid!” the man said, fear in his eyes at the thought of being thrown up on.

John rushed outside, still holding his stomach. That’s when he initiated part two of his master plan. Thankful for his years as a homeless criminal, John bumped into David as the man turned his back to him. As he exited the car, John pulled David’s wallet from his rear trouser pocket. S _till got it._

John jumped to the ground, followed by the older Sub, and remained doubled over as he worked his way into position. He dropped the wallet when he was at the edge of the open door and David’s back was turned. “I think you dropped your wallet,” John said, bending over like he was about to throw up. The man patted the seat of his jeans, then looked down at his wallet on the pavement with confusion in his eyes.

He narrowed his eyes at John. “Did you just try and rob me, kid?”

John just shook his head as he prepared to vomit by spitting on the ground again. He had to muster up every ounce of his self-control not to smile at the man’s accusation. _Buddy, if I was going to steal from you, you’d have no idea._

When the man bent down to pick up the wallet, John grabbed the open door and swung it, knocking the man in the head. It was dangerous, and a bit violent for John’s taste, but he had to save Sherlock. He made sure not to swing too hard, but the man lying on the ground told John he had hit him hard enough. “I can’t believe that worked,” John whispered as he leaned down to check the man’s pulse. The thumping in the man’s neck was strong and regular. “Thank God. Sorry, mate,” John said, patting the man’s head.

“What’s going on back there?” Amy shouted, getting out of the front seat and heading towards John.

John quickly grabbed the man’s mobile and shut the door. John ran around to the other side of the car, praying he was fast enough to get the one up on the other Sub. He jumped into the passenger’s seat and slid over to the driver’s. Thankfully, the car was still running, and by the time John closed and locked the doors, the older Sub had no idea what hit her.

“Hell yes!” John cheered, but soon sobered when he realized he had not fucking idea how to drive a car. _Kinda forgot about that, didn’t you John?_

“Hey! Hey, boy, get out of there!” Amy shouted, banging on the door. She tried the handle, but John had made sure to lock everything down.

“Okay, okay, big pedal break, little one gas,” John told himself, remembering when Harry convinced them to steal a car. She only drove them about two blocks before they crashed into a street lamp. _Let’s try not to have a repeat of that, yeah._ Ignoring the lady outside, who was now on her phone, John grabbed David’s mobile and typed in Baker Street on the GPS. If he could find the street then he could find the house, as it was the biggest one for kilometers.

While the data was loading, John put his foot on the break and slowly shifted the stick to ‘D.’ With a grin he couldn’t help plastered on his face, John released the break and pressed the accelerator. The car moved forward with the woman still yelling at him to ‘stop right now!’

Finally, the GPS popped up and told John exactly where he needed to go. “Haha! Yes!” John shouted, bouncing a little in his seat in his excitement. One of his master plans finally worked. “It’s about bloody time!”

John took it slow, but tried to move as fast as possible to get to Sherlock. The traffic lights seemed to take forever, with John tapping his fingers and cursing loudly for them to hurry up. When he arrived at Baker Street, John spotted the house immediately, his heart stopping in his chest.

There was fire and smoke rising above the rest of the houses. “Oh no,” was all the Sub could say, his face turning pale and his hands gripping the wheel. He sped up until he arrived outside, then put the car in park and jumped out at a flat sprint.

Greg was pulling Mycroft out of the door when John made it closer to the house. The men were both covered in black ash and dust, making Greg cough as he lugged his lover onto the cold grass. “John?” he shouted, looking up to see the Sub standing in awe of the burning building.

John looked at the man, seeing the pain on his face, making something deep down inside him want to sooth Greg until he was better. But John didn’t have time for that. No, he had to find Sherlock and Jim, even if it was the last thing he did. _Think John, think._ As he looked at Greg, who was unconsciously transmitting bliss to the Dom in his arms, John got an idea.

He focused on his receptor, picturing Sherlock petting it until bliss filled his body. “John, no!” Greg shouted at him when the young Sub ran into the house, feeling like he could conquer the world.

“Fuck,” John said, coughing a bit from all the smoke. “Jim! Sherlock!” he shouted, listening for a response. John made his way to the kitchen, crouching low to avoid most of the smoke. Though the bliss helped with the heat and fear he was feeling, it couldn’t stop the smoke from filling his lungs.

“Help!” a small voice shouted from behind him. John turned around and headed back into the living room, looking for Jim.

“Jim! Jim, where are you?!” he shouted over the blazing flames. Luckily, the flames hadn’t totally engulfed the rooms yet, but only formed small patches that John could mostly avoid. He made his way to Mycroft’s study to see a small black dome sticking up from behind Mycroft’s desk.

The study was filled with smoke, making it almost impossible to see, but John filled himself with more bliss to help hone his senses. “Jim,” John said, running over to grab the huddled up boy. Jim was shaking so much that John had a hard time picking him up. John’s muscles seemed to become twice as strong as he lifted the other boy.

Jim coughed and hacked enough to throw up a lung, until they finally got outside. Mycroft was now somewhat awake, his eyes staring up at Greg as he too continued to cough. “Jim, oh my God, Jim,” Greg said, holding out an arm that wasn’t cradling Mycroft’s head.

John brought the boy over and sat him down next to Greg, who wrapped his arm all the way around him, kissing his head over and over again. “John, you can’t go back in there. The fire department is coming. They’ll get Sherlock.” Greg grabbed John’s wrist, holding him in place.

“No! I have to get Sherlock!” John shouted, ripping his hand away easily. In all honestly, John probably could’ve picked Greg completely off the ground with all the bliss running through him right now. It was a good thing too, because he had no idea what state Sherlock was in right now.

With that, John ran back into the house, his lungs feeling the burn just before the dopamine took over. “He’s upstairs!” he heard Greg shout from outside. Without thinking, John ran upstairs to find a completely different battlefield than downstairs. _One of the bombs must have gone off here._ The entire east wing has crumbled down, making the house sag in a way that looked all too dangerous.

“Sherlock!” John yelled over the flames, which were considerably more abundant on the second floor. “Sherlock, please!” Going from the bathroom, to Mycroft’s room, and finally to the Sherlock’s room, which was engulfed in flames. That’s when he saw pale skin sticking out from behind the bed. “I’m coming!”

John took a moment, picturing Sherlock holding him in bed, rubbing his hand over his belly, calming him. With his body filled with bliss and absolutely zero fear, John jumped through the flames, not feeling as they touched his skin. Sherlock was lying passed out on the floor, his face black with smoke. “I’ve got you, it’s alright,” John repeated what Sherlock always told him.

He lifted the man over his shoulder, needed to add more bliss to handle the weight. Sherlock might be skinny, but he was still a good head taller and much more muscular than John gave him credit for. John grunted under the weight, but settled the man on his shoulder.

Moving slowly, John crouched down, ready to bolt through the flames blocking the door. “Hold on, mate,” he said before leaping over, feeling the leg of his trousers catch fire. “Shit!” John hissed, kicking at his leg to put out the flames while he still held Sherlock. “This is bad, Sherlock, this is really bad.” He got no response from the man, so he just kept moving.

It was hard going down the stairs, especially when they cracked and creaked with every move. He finally made it to the bottom though, and limped through the front door. Throwing Sherlock’s body onto the snowy grass, John lowered himself to his knees and hovered over Sherlock. He patted the man’s cheek. “Come on, Sherlock. Wake up now, we’re safe.”

When that didn’t work, John looked up at Greg, who had a worried look on his face as he comforted both Jim and Mycroft. Swallowing whatever teenage bashfulness he had, John pinched Sherlock’s nose, tilted his head back, and blew fresh air into this mouth. His lips were hot against John’s, stirring something in the boy. “Come on, come on, come on,” John started to whimper. “Please, Sherlock,” he breathed into his lungs again, “please don’t leave me, please.”

Tears began to fall from the Sub’s eyes, landing on Sherlock’s ash smeared face. “You stupid git,” John shouted, and slapped the man below him. “You can’t leave me like this. I can’t…I can’t…” John leaned down to whisper into Sherlock’s ear, not wanting anyone else to hear his confession. “I can’t live without you.” John fell on Sherlock’s chest, sobbing and holding onto the man as sirens filled the winter air.

There was no way he could go back to that cold teenager who fought against the world. Not after Sherlock had warmed him so completely with his gently touches. John could create his own bliss, yes, but it was a candle compared to the sun Sherlock gave him. No, there was no way in hell John could live without Sherlock to hold him at night, keeping him warm and safe. 

Then, for the first time in his life, the heavens answered his prayer. A large hand landed on his head, stroking through his sweaty hair. “’S okay, John,” the deep voice rumbled through Sherlock’s chest, “don’t cry.”

“Sherlock?” his head popped up, looking down at the man who gave him a crooked grin. “You’re alright, you’re…” suddenly, John’s head felt lighter than air, but it wasn’t from happiness. John leaned back on his haunches, his eyes rolling back into his head. “I don’t…I don’t feel so well,” John mumbled, as feeling in his limbs started to fade and his tongue went numb.

“John?” Sherlock said, worry in his voice. John fell backwards onto the icy grass, watching the smoke from the house float in front of the clouds. “John, are you okay?”

The problem was, John didn’t think he was okay, he thought he was dying.   


	12. Blue Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft takes care of the wounded. John has an unexpected moment with Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to TPurr for editing this chapter!

Chapter 12 – Blue Eyes

“Sherlock!” John shouted breathlessly, sitting up quickly and looking around. Pain decided to explode everywhere in his body, especially in his left chest and ankle. His head became unnaturally light, forcing him to lie back down before he yakked all over himself.

“Easy, John,” a man said, though John hadn’t seen anyone in the room with him. Looking around, John saw that he was in a hospital room once again, with his gown open wide to expose the white plaster and gauze wrapped around his ribs. Thankfully, there was a blanket covering his lower half, save for his left ankle, which was also covered in white bandages. Finally, John settled on the man sitting in a chair at the end of his bed.

“Mycroft? What happened?” John asked, his throat feeling like there was actual sandpaper coating the skin. “Is Sherlock okay?” The last thing John remembered was kneeling above Sherlock’s unconscious body. He had no idea whether the man had made it or if he was…was… _dead._

“He’s fine, John, just fine,” Mycroft said, a small smile coming to his face. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m-I’m okay, I guess,” John mumbled, his nerves calming down now that he knew Sherlock was okay.

“You broke two ribs and your ankle was burned quite severely, John. I would say that is not ‘okay.’”

“Well I-” John started, but was cut off by Mycroft holding up a newspaper.

“The boy who braved the flames,” he said, reading from the paper.

“What?” John asked, his memory slowly coming back to how he carried Jim and Sherlock out on his back.

“John Hamish Watson, a 16 year old Sub bravely rushed into a burning house to save his fellow Sub Jim Moriarty and his Dom Sherlock Holmes. All three are recuperating in the hospital, but doctors say they will be discharged within the week. The question is, however, how did the young Sub do it?” Mycroft finished reading, putting the newspaper back in his lap. He looked up at John, fixing the Sub with an unreadable stare.

John kept his mouth shut, unsure of what he should say. What would Mycroft do if he found out John could create his own bliss? _Would I be useless then? Something to throw out in the garbage?_

“How long has it been?” John asked. Amazed at how quick the news heard about what happened.

“You were asleep for two days. The doctor said you were in a drug induced coma. Somehow,” Mycroft said, slightly narrowing his eyes, “you had triple the normal amount of dopamine in your system. So John, my question to you is how?”

“I-erm…well, you see-” John stumbled. He didn’t know what to say to the man that wouldn’t end up making him angry.

Seeing the terrified and confused look on the Sub’s face, Mycroft softened his features. The man scooted his chair forward and placed a hand on John’s knee. “John, you saved my brother’s life. I don’t,” he stopped and cleared his throat, collecting himself. “I don’t know if he would have made it if you were not there. I am in your debt, so please believe me when I say I just want to help you.”

John just stared at the man. He was still a bit confused, but John just chalked it up to the morphine they were pumping into him. _I guess it’s okay to tell him. Now would be the best time, I think._ “The Rebels, they…they taught me how to make my own bliss. I used it so I wouldn’t be scared or feel any pain when I ran into the building.”

Mycroft knitted his eyebrows together and for a moment, John panicked, thinking he was mad.

“I’m sorry,” John apologized, but he didn’t really know why.

“No, no, John, please don’t apologize. I’m not angry at you. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I suppose that explains the overdose, then.”

“Yeah, I was pumping it out pretty strong at the end there after my trouser leg caught on fire. Hey,” John remembered, “how are Jim and Greg?”

“They are doing well. Jim had a few mild burns on his thigh, but Gregory is fine save for a few cuts and bruises.”    

“That’s good,” John said, sighing and settling back into his bed.

“Indeed. There are more pressing matters that need attending to, however I do not wish to burden you with them yet, especially after your confession of producing your own bliss. I foresee many interviews, but I will make sure your first is with Greg.”

“What? Why not now?” John asked, defensive. He could handle what anyone could throw at him, his actions at Baker Street proved that. _But what will happen when the world finds out Subs can create their own bliss?_  

“Calm yourself,” Mycroft said, glancing at the heart monitor, which was beeping a tad faster. “The time will come when you will be required to talk to the press, but now is not it. I will see to it that you have proper recovery time and you will not overexert yourself, is that understood?”

John started to laugh. He couldn’t help himself. This was Mycroft’s idea of being nice and taking care of John, and he was still ordering the Sub around. He was forever grateful though that he didn’t have to talk to any journalists for at least a little while. _What would I even say? What would they ask? Jeez, why do people even care?_

“Is that understood, John?” Mycroft asked again. There was sternness in his voice, but no malice or anger.

“Yeah, yeah, I promise, no overexerting here,” John grinned at the man rolling his eyes.

“Good, now get some rest and we’ll talk some more tomorrow.” Mycroft squeezed John’s leg gently. “Thank you for trusting me,” he said as John’s eyes fluttered closed.

.oOo.

“John…John….John wake up,” a voice whispered to him, jostling him enough to make his ribs ache.

“What? What’s going on?” John asked, opening his eyes to see two black ones peering back at him. “Jim?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay? Greg told me you were, but I had to come and make sure,” the boy rambled on while John rubbed the sleep away from his eyes. It still had to be nighttime, but John smiled inwardly as it brought back memories of Jim waking him up when there was a strange sound around their camp. The boy was a good friend, maybe a little intense, but a good friend, nonetheless.

“I’m fine, Jim,” John said, sitting up a bit and wincing from the pain in his side and foot. “I’m just glad you’re okay, mate.”

“You-you pulled me out of that house, John. I would’ve been a goner-”

“Don’t say that,” John chastised. “Greg would have grabbed you if I wasn’t there.” John was sure it was true, even though he did see fear in the Dom’s eyes when he was cradling Mycroft’s head. Jim needed to believe that though, believe that his guardian would risk his life to save him. It was important, and John had to realize that he wasn’t Jim’s protector any more.

“Greg said we get to go on vacation after this, well, not a traveling vacation, but he said we can just sit, watch the telly, and eat ice cream all day if we want to.” The smile on Jim’s face lit up the room, making John’s heart ache a bit from being too happy.

“That sounds great,” John said with a smile.

“Jim,” a frustrated voice whispered from the doorway. Greg appeared, shutting the door behind him. “It’s three in the morning, and you’re supposed to be in bed, not bothering John.”

“I just had to make sure he was okay,” Jim said firmly, but yawned afterwards, betraying how tired the Sub actually was.

“And you couldn’t wait until tomorrow when you’re released?” Greg questioned, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well…I guess, but-”

“No, no more buts, tell John goodnight, yeah.”

“Goodnight, John,” Jim said, reaching his arm across the older boy’s chest in a makeshift hug.

“’night, Jim,” he said, a sleepy smile on his face as his friend lowered his head and left the room. “Hey, Greg,” John whispered just loud enough for the Dom to hear him.

“Yeah? You okay?” The man turned back around, staring at John with kind eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just wanted to tell you, umm…thanks,” John said, looking down and picking at the thread of his blanket.

“For what, lad?” Greg asked, taking a few more step towards John, hovering over him.

“My friends, you’re taking care of them. Giving them more than I ever could and I-” John paused, tears burning his eyes and clumping up his throat. “Just, thanks.”

Greg smiled and reached up to run a hand through John’s hair. “It was my pleasure. Now go back to sleep.”

John closed his eyes, and fell back into a deep sleep.

.oOo.

When he woke up and opened his eyes, there was a pair of blue silver eyes staring at him intently. “Sherlock?” John asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning. His movements felt weird as they were under such scrutiny from his Dom’s piercing eyes. “What?” he finally asked, when the man just sat there with his elbows braced on his knees and his peaked hands holding up his head.

“Why?” Sherlock asked.

“Why what?”

“Why did you run into a burning building and drag me out? Why?” His eyes seemed ablaze with the fury created from not being able to understand John’s actions.

“I was able to create my own bliss, so I wasn’t scared or-” John was cut off again by the tense man.

“No, why did you run into a burning building and drag me out? Not how.”

“I don’t understand,” John said, because he didn’t. His feet just moved on instinct, other than that, he couldn’t really remember what happened.

“You said you can’t live without me. Why?”

“Sherlock I-” John started, but stopped whenever the memory of him crying over Sherlock’s chest came back to him. _Oh my God, I did say that, didn’t I? What does that mean?_

“I am your Dom. I own you. I put you in restraints. I put you on a lead. I took you to a kennel for doomed Subs. I…You are supposed to hate me. You should be happy to let me die,” Sherlock said, his face contorting.

“Sherlock, I would never be happy to see someone die,” John said, sick at even thinking about it. Hell, he’d do it all over again, even if Sherlock beat him.

“But you burned yourself for me. Broke your ribs for me. You ran into a bloody burning building for me!” Sherlock shouted, slamming his hand down on the cushion of John’s bed. “Why?” he gritted out.

“I,” John swallowed, “I…”John thought about telling the truth; how he jerked off every morning thinking about Sherlock, how he loved to be fed by him, how he loved to sleep next to him, how he loved when Sherlock whispered in his ear and played with his hair, how he fucking loved Sherlock Holmes. But, he couldn’t say all those things, not when Sherlock obviously didn’t feel the same way. “I knew your brother would have me tortured if I didn’t save your stupid arse.”

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, examining every micro-expression. “Liar,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“I am not!” John said, but it came out more as teenage whining.

“Sherlock, what are you doing in here!” Mycroft snapped, walking into the room with a tray of food. “I told you to stay in bed. Your arm needs rest.” It was the first time John had noticed that Sherlock’s forearm was wrapped in white plaster, much like John’s foot.

Sherlock continued to stare at John, apparently seeing right through him. John lowered his eyes, unable to face the scrutiny he was being placed under, until Mycroft took mercy on him and pinched his brother’s neck. “I believe I told you to go back to your room, Sherlock Holmes. Don’t make me order you.” That caught the younger Dom’s attention, startling him out of the trance he seemed to be in.

Mycroft set down the tray of food on John’s lap, then grabbed his brother’s good arm, hauling him up. “Come, I’ll take you back,” Mycroft said, holding onto his brother’s arm, as if the younger was about to run away.

“But I’m so bored! These nurses are conspiring to kill me with their ignorance and stupidity.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure they are, but you still need your rest. And you need to eat something as well,” Mycroft said as they walked out of the room. John heard a loud groan in response, making the boy smile.

“The boy who braved the flames,” John said, lying back and putting his right hand behind his head while the left was perched on his broken ribs. “Who are they calling boy?” he grumbled, popping a steamed carrot into his mouth.

John ate his meal in silence, until the doctors came in and inspected his wounds. He had visitors coming and going the rest of the time he was in the hospital. Greg came and played cards with him, Jim brought a few comic books for them to read together, and Mycroft always snuck in some cake for him to eat. But Sherlock never came to visit him, though Mycroft never said why.

After two more days, John and Sherlock were both discharged. John was excited to go home until he realized their home had been blown up by the Resistance. “Where are we going to go?” he asked, as Mycroft signed release papers.

“I rented the place at the other end of Baker Street, 221 I believe. It’s not as extravagant, but it will do until our estate is rebuilt. Here, I had Anthea buy you some more clothes, as all of yours are smoke stained.”

“Thanks,” John said, grabbing the clothes. Thankfully, Mycroft did not have his brother’s trait of being a nosy perv, and left the room for John to change. It was difficult, bouncing around on his good foot to be able to put on soft cotton pants and black trousers. He balanced himself on a crutch as he pulled on a long sleeve green shirt.

John used the crutch so his left ankle didn’t have any pressure on it, and walked outside to meet Mycroft and Sherlock. Sherlock held his arm close to his chest, the sling helping support it. He was dressed in a simple long sleeve button up with grey slacks, but the normal confident aura that emitted from the man was severely toned down.

“Come. Gregory is picking us up at the rear exit,” Mycroft said, putting a hand on John’s back and letting it fall off gently. “I’m sorry John, but I can’t give you bliss. The doctor said your body is still trying to get rid of the remaining drugs. You were prescribed some mild pain killers if it becomes too much for you. I’ll have a meal prepared when we get home so you can take your medication and rest,” Mycroft told him as they walked down the hallway.

“Okay,” was all John could say. He knew he had messed up his body with creating so much bliss, but he had to do it. There was no other option. John was just lucky he hadn’t gone into cardiac arrest from a bliss overdose.

When they arrived at the rear exit, Mycroft opened the door to a thankfully empty lot. Greg was in his car waiting for them, but there were no journalist in sight. _Thank God._

Sherlock still hadn’t said anything since he had woken John up two days ago. This made the car ride home even more awkward. John sat in the middle as he always did, but he desperately missed the warm hand that caressed his neck. Now that he didn’t have a collar on, his neck felt so bare, making him shiver from the chill that ran along his naked skin.

Through the corner of his eye, John could see Sherlock staring at him, studying him. John shifted uncomfortably, his ribs not thanking him every time he did so. It still didn’t stop the Dom from looking at him with silver eyes. John had finally had enough. His head hurt, his ribs hurt, fuck, his whole body hurt, and the last thing he needed was for Sherlock to sit there and do…whatever the hell it was that he was doing.

“What?!” John snapped, looking over to stare the man right in the eye. His deep blue eyes tried to pierce those silver orbs, tried to find what they hid in their depths, just like what Sherlock did to him.

“No need to get riled up, John,” Mycroft said, putting a hand on the boy’s thigh, grounding him.

“But he’s-”

“You and Sherlock have been through quite an ordeal, and I imagine both of you are still ‘on edge,’ so to speak.”

“But-” John tried again, looking at Mycroft with pleading eyes.

“Drop it,” Mycroft said slowly, patting John’s knee. “Everything will be fine once we get home and you get settled in. We won’t start sorting out what happened until you are ready, I promise.”

John rubbed his eye with the palm of his hand, so he didn’t glare up at Sherlock. “Alright, guys,” Greg said, looking back from the driver’s seat, “I believe this is your stop.”

Everyone got out of the car, John almost falling over when he tried to pull his crutch with him. “You and John will be sleeping in the room on the ground floor, Sherlock. That way you both won’t have to deal with the stairs,” Mycroft said. As everyone walked towards the house, Mycroft grabbed Greg’s hand and brought it to his lips. “I’ll call you when John’s ready to talk.”

“Sounds good,” Greg smiled, pressing his forehead up against Mycroft’s. “Knowing that boy, I’ll be here sooner than you think.”

“He is a strong one, isn’t he?” Mycroft said with a final kiss to Greg’s hand.

“Stubborn is more like it,” Greg shouted as he made his way back to the car.

“You guys know I can hear you, right?” John scoffed, limping into the house.

“Yes, we do,” Mycroft said simply, walking past John and his brother.

“I’m taking a bath. I smell like that putrid hospital,” Sherlock growled and strode into the bedroom, which was connected to a large bathroom.

“I think I’m going to take a little nap,” John told Mycroft, who nodded his head.

“That is for the best. I will have Devon prepare some food for you when you wake up. We will need to change your bandage tonight, as well.”

“Alright,” John said, walking into the bedroom and closing the door. He put his crutch by the bed stand and just as he was about to sit down he heard a slap from the bathroom, followed by someone cursing.

John stood up, leaving his crutch behind, and hobbled over to the closed door. He knocked a few times. “Sherlock? Sherlock, are you okay?” When no answer came, John opened the door to a large bathroom with white and blue tiled walls. There was a stand up glass shower with silver trim and a big bath tub standing on four lion’s feet. Sherlock was sitting in the tub with a mound full of bubble surrounding him.

Sherlock was grunting and cursing as he used his wrapped up arm to reach for a flannel that had fallen on the floor. “I’ve got it,” John said without thinking. He slowly made his way over and got down on his knees to pick up the cloth. Before he handed it to Sherlock, he realized the man couldn’t use his dominate hand to wash himself. Plus, Sherlock looked like he was about to fall asleep right there. “Here, just lie back,” John said, dipping the flannel in the warm water.

Gently, John rubbed warm soapy water over Sherlock’s chest and neck, washing off the hospital odor. Sherlock’s eyes grew wide as they stared directly at John. Soon though, Sherlock began to relax under John’s ministrations, and a small smile came to his face. “I thought you said you would never wash me,” he said, chuckling as John started to wash his face.

John was so focused on grazing over Sherlock’s cheekbones, he hardly noticed the man talking to him. He smiled then, remembering how he had tried to stab Sherlock with a letter opener. “Well,” John said, stopping for a moment and letting his hand and cloth rest on Sherlock belly, “how was I to know all this crazy stuff was going to happen. I mean, holy shit, how many times have we been in hospital?” John laughed.

“Trouble seems to follow you, John Watson,” Sherlock grinned.

“Me?” John said, grabbing some shampoo and started wetting Sherlock’s hair by cupping his hand in the water and dumping it over his head. “You guys started all this by kidnapping me,” he defended himself. It was strange, he barely even noticed the pain in his ankle and in his ribs as he talked to Sherlock, even though he was sure the Dom wasn’t giving him any bliss.

“You were robbing us,” Sherlock argued, closing his eyes as John started to work the soap into the brown curls, building up a lather.

“Because we were starving,” John countered, thinking that he had won their little argument. He cupped his hands again and started washing off the soap. “Keep your eyes closed,” he warned, watching the suds roll down Sherlock’s face.

“Because you ran away,” Sherlock said, though it wasn’t an accusation, more of a statement.

“Yeah, because Doms are stupid,” John said, scrubbing out the rest of the bubbles.

“No,” Sherlock said, opening his eyes and grabbing John’s arm with his good hand, “because you hadn’t found me yet.”

John kneeled there for a long moment, taking in what Sherlock had said. _If I had Sherlock as my initial Dom, would things have been different? I would have never met Molly, or Mike, or Jim. I wouldn’t be the way I am now. I wouldn’t be me._ But, the thing was, John was happy he had met Sherlock. Happy that he had been kidnapped. Happy that he was bathing Sherlock right now.

Sherlock held John’s arm, pulling him a tad closer. John let himself be pulled to Sherlock, keeping his blue eyes fixed on those silver ones he used to fear but now loved. There was a hand on the back of his head now instead of his arm, pulling him even closer. John closed his eyes, letting himself relax as warm chapped lips touched his own.

Sherlock still tasted like fire. Like smoke and burning cedar, but his lips were something akin to cinnamon. John sighed a little, letting his hand rest on Sherlock’s pale chest. Then, going against all his survival instincts had ever taught him, John let his Dom in. He opened his mouth slightly, letting Sherlock’s tongue in to explore his mouth. The man was gentle, oh was he gentle, as he caressed the back of John’s head and moved his tongue slowly against the roof of the Sub’s mouth.

After what seemed like an eternity of time standing still, they pulled away, John slowly opening his eyes. As he came back to himself, John’s eyes grew wide, while Sherlock had a sleepy smile on his face. _Oh…Oh shit, what did I just do? I can’t love him. He’s my Dom, for Christ’s sake. Just back away real slow, Watson._

With that, John jumped up and limped as fast as he could out of the room and shut the door. He pressed his back against the door, trying to slow his heart down and get rid of the stupid butterflies in his stomach. John rubbed his forehead and limped to the bed, getting under the covers and lying on his side. “What did I just do?” he whispered to himself. How could something feel so right, but feel so wrong at the same time. It was in his bones though, that feeling of home, of this was where he was supposed to be.

It only took ten minutes for Sherlock to come out of the bathroom, but John had his eyes closed and was now lying flat on his back. “John?” Sherlock asked, but the Sub was already fast asleep.

.oOo.

Mycroft had a tray prepared with a turkey sandwich, orange juice, and John’s pain medication as he walked from the kitchen to John and Sherlock’s room. He knocked gently, but when no one answered he opened the door. Thankful that the door didn’t creak, Mycroft looked upon his two charges as they slept.

He smiled at the way Sherlock seemed to curl around John’s body, his good hand on the boy’s ribs protectively, while the other was spread through short blonde hairs. The Dom’s knees were huddled up in the fetal position, with one leg over John’s good one.

John, on the other hand, just stayed on his back, but the one thing Mycroft did note, was that the boy had his arms wrapped tightly around Sherlock’s as it lay on his ribs. The eldest Holmes watched the two boys for a moment, noticing how young they both were. Sherlock had barely broken twenty, and John was but a mere sixteen. They were both too young to be put through such trauma. They would have to though, Mycroft knew, if things were going to change for the better.

With one last look at the intertwined forms, Mycroft turned around with the tray in hand. Before he closed the door, he whispered. “Goodnight, my boys.”


	13. We All Fall in Love Sometimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tries to fight his feelings. Sherlock and Mycroft have something to say about John's bliss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was in a really good mood these past couple of weeks, so here is a bit more fluff you everyone :) The next chapter will get down to business and start off a new plot twist, so enjoy this while it lasts. LoL.
> 
> This chapter is un-beta'd, so please forgive the mistakes. Enjoy!

Chapter 13 – We All Fall in Love Sometimes

John woke up to a loud shout. He shot up immediately, feeling light headed, but on edge enough that he was able to ignore it. Even though he was in Sherlock’s room in the new house, it felt strange and a bit eerie to be alone. John jumped up, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and hissing in pain when his left foot hit the ground. The burns on his ankle were a constant ache and every sharp move sent pain through his entire leg.

Grabbing his crutch, John headed out of the room, opening the door slowly in case there was a problem outside. He sighed with relief when he heard the shout again and located where it was coming from.

Sherlock was sitting in a sofa with his burnt arm tentatively held out to his brother, who sat next to him.  “Stop squirming, Sherlock,” Mycroft growled at his brother, who tried to jerk his arm away every five seconds. The elder Holmes was dabbing the burns with a soft cotton ball soaked in some sort of liquid, while the younger kept his head turned away with a pained expression on his face. “The sooner you start behaving the sooner it will be over, now hold still.”

Another deep shout from Sherlock, and then Mycroft was done. “Good job, Sherlock,” he said, pulling out the gauze wrap. John was surprised at the lack of condescension in the older Dom’s voice. 

“Shut up,” Sherlock grumbled, cradling his arm to his chest when Mycroft was done wrapping it gently with the gauze.

“John,” Mycroft called without even looking over at the Sub, “my apologies, did my brother wake you with his wailing?”

“I wasn’t wailing!” Sherlock actually whined at his brother. John could tell his Dom was hurting by the way he reverted back to almost childlike interactions with his brother. John only smiled slightly and headed over to the armchair.

“Your turn, John,” Mycroft said, patting the seat next to him as Sherlock scooted over, leaving a small space between the two brothers. “I need to clean and redress your burns. It needed to be done last night, but I opted to let you two sleep. Come,” he said, looking at John expectantly.  

John made two long strides with his crutch, then propped it up on the side of the couch. He hobbled over, with Sherlock’s steadying hand on his waist, and sat down. Before he knew what was happening, John was being pulled back so his head lay in Sherlock’s lap and his feet in Mycroft’s.

“Oi!” John cried, trying to get up, but found that even with one hand, Sherlock was much stronger than him.

“Easy,” Sherlock said, rubbing John’s chest and belly like he was a scared animal. “Don’t look yet. I don’t want you to see your ankle,” Sherlock said, while Mycroft began unwrapping John’s ankle.

“I’m not a child, Sherlock,” John said, looking up at those two silver eyes and that pale skin that appeared to be flawless. His eyes began to wander down to Sherlock’s lips, watching how the man’s tongue darted out to wet them. When his mind was focused on nothing but Sherlock, he forgot about other parts of his body. John had to twist and turn, closing his eyes to make his sure his lower regions didn’t come up to greet Mycroft. _What is wrong with me? Sherlock probably doesn’t even remember the kiss._

If Sherlock knew what was trying to happen in the Sub’s pants, he just ignored him and continued to stare down at John as if in some sort of transfixed state. “Ow!” John shouted, his whole body jerking on instinct when Mycroft started to dab at his burns.

“Shhh,” Sherlock cooed at him.

That’s when an idea popped into his head. He didn’t have to deal with pain, not any more. He had always thought being a Sub was a curse, but slowly, his mind was changing. _Who wouldn’t want to stop all the pain?_

John let himself drift. Feeling Sherlock underneath him, the soft sounds of everyone breathing, John focused on the back of his neck. Slowly, bliss started to fill his body, masking the pain in his ankle and ribs. It felt amazing, so, so, amazing, and John never wanted it to stop. That’s why an angry whine escaped him when Sherlock was shouting his name and pinching at his neck.

“John! John, stop it!” Sherlock shouted at him, bringing John out of his bliss. “Why did you do that?” he asked, and before John could answer, Sherlock continued. “If you want bliss you need to ask me. You can’t do it on your own, do you understand me?” Sherlock was furious, his grip on John proving it.

“Why not?! You can’t stop me from creating my own bliss,” John snapped, his anger fueled by not only the resurfacing pain in his foot, but the fact that Sherlock would have the gall to tell him he couldn’t use bliss.

“Because…because…it’s just not right!”

“What, if you can’t give me bliss, nobody can?” John said, struggling in Sherlock’s grip. He didn’t want the stupid arsehole touching him, even if the warmth radiating off his lap was exquisite.  

“That’s not what I meant, you stupid infuriating boy!” Sherlock growled at him. John couldn’t help but shrink back a little from the anger of the man. If this was how Sherlock wanted to play it, then by all means John would show him he wouldn’t back down from something so important.  

“Listen here you twat, I-”

“That is enough!” Mycroft snapped at the both of them. He continued to wrap John’s ankle as he spoke. “John you are not to use your own bliss, as we do not know the adverse effects it has on Subs. It is also apparent your judgment on when and how much is compromised.”

“Compromised?” John asked, trying to sit up and glare at the man, but was held down by Sherlock. “I did perfectly fine saving your arses from a burning building, didn’t I?”

“You were in a coma for two days, John. We can’t take that kind of risk again, at least not until we understand more about this phenomenon.” Mycroft gently lifted John’s leg, checking over his work. With an approving nod, he placed the leg back in his lap.

“You can’t tell me when I can and can’t-”

“Yes,” Mycroft glared at him, “yes, I can, and I will, John. Do not forget you are still my Sub.”

John wanted to balk, he really did, but when you’re lying on your back in the laps of two Doms, self-preservation tends to get the best of you. All the Sub could do was put his head back in Sherlock’s lap, and try to figure out a way to use his own bliss instead of depending on theirs. _If I can be dependent on myself instead of them, what would that mean?_

“This is not a conversation to be had while you both are still healing,” Mycroft said, lifting John’s feet off his lap and onto the floor. Sherlock let go of him finally, so John was able to sit up.

“I’m fine,” John and Sherlock spoke at the same time. Mycroft merely chuckled and stood up, placing his hands on his hips. “You are both going to go into the kitchen and eat the meal Devon has prepared for you. I don’t want to hear any arguing or whining either, is that understood?”

John bit his lip, wanting to push the subject of whether or not he could use his own bliss, but deciding it could wait. With Sherlock’s unnecessary assistance, John stood up and placed his crutch under his arm. When he tried to jerk away from the long fingers holding his hips, John almost fell over and bumped his ankle against the coffee table. He hissed and squeezed his eyes together, but all he got was a ‘why can’t you just behave,’ look from Mycroft.

“When can I talk to Greg?” John asked as they made their way to the table.

“Why are there three place settings?” Sherlock asked, glancing from the table to his brother.

“You are not feeding John, Sherlock. He can’t-”

“Of course he can. John,” Sherlock sat down and scooted his chair back, “come.”

John looked at Mycroft, who gave away nothing, then placed his crutch against the wall. Slowly, he made his way over to Sherlock, situating himself on the bony lap. A deep sigh tried to roll off his tongue at the safe familiar position. Sherlock’s bad arm rested gently in John’s lap, while the other grabbed a piece of breaded chicken and dipped it in a red sauce. The pain in his leg seemed to melt away, but he was clear headed, unlike when Sherlock overloaded him with bliss.

With a smile on his face, John opened his mouth to take the entire piece into his mouth. An ‘mmm’ sound made its way out of the Sub’s mouth as he chewed the delicious food. He closed his eyes and pressed his head up against Sherlock’s shoulder, feeling warm and calm. In turn, Sherlock placed his cheek against the side of John’s head, pressing his lips to the boy’s scalp. “You don’t need your own bliss,” he whispered, “you just need to be taken care of.”

John slowly opened his eyes at Sherlock’s statement. He furrowed his brow as he took another piece of chicken into his mouth. Is that what he wanted? John had no bloody idea. Bliss felt good, felt right, but then again so did this, sitting on Sherlock’s lap without a care in the world.

“I can…” John said sleepily. “I can take care of myself.” He could, of course he could, he had been doing it since he was ten years old. Now though…well, now things had changed. He had people who fed him and kept him warm and safe. There was still much to do though, John knew. He had to worry about Harry, Mike, Jim, and Molly, had to help IBAD track down the Rebels who blew up his home, and now he had to figure out how Subs creating bliss was a positive to Doms. But for right now, John supposed he could sit here for a while longer, letting Sherlock rub his belly and feed him.

“I know you can,” Sherlock said, his mouth right next to John’s ear, “but that won’t stop me.”  

After his last bite, John shook his head, trying to clear away the relaxation that Sherlock so expertly surrounded him in. He looked over at Mycroft who was staring at him intently. “When…” John swallowed, his tongue feeling lazy. “When can I talk to Greg? The Rebels…they’re getting away.”

“We’ve capture twenty two members of the Resistance already, John,” Mycroft told him, taking a sip of his tea. “We used the license plate of the car you stole to track them back to their hide out. Irene and most of the higher ups were already gone, but the few stranglers were…strangely cooperative.”

“What does that mean?” John asked, feeling a little bit more lucid, even though Sherlock’s hand seemed to get lower and lower every time he stroked his chest and belly.

Mycroft took another sip of his tea, obviously debating on whether to tell John something important or leave it for another day. Making up his mind, he took a deep breath. “John, the men and women we found in the facility were in a…” Mycroft paused, not sure how properly describe what he had found.

“They were zombies, John,” Sherlock chimed in behind him.

_Zombies? Like eat your face off, shoot ‘em in the head, zombies?_

“No, nothing like that,” Sherlock replied, though John hadn’t said a word. He hated when Sherlock did that, well, actually, deep down it made him feel good to be completely translucent to someone. “Their kidneys, livers, hearts, and brains had been so adversely effected by their constant use of bliss, that all they could do was walk around smiling. They had become addicted to the dopamine their body created, and it destroyed them.”

“What?!” John asked, frustrated that he couldn’t get off Sherlock’s lap without hurting himself. This made no sense…no, no, it made perfect since. _That’s why people seemed so nonchalant and happy there._ _They were all doped up._

“We’ve taken them into custody and our doctors are working on healing their internal organs, but most of them will need transplants to survive,” Mycroft said.

“Subs don’t get organ donations,” John said angrily, lowering his head. The room was silent for a long moment, as all men knew what John said was true.

“This is such bullshit,” John whispered, kicking the table with his foot.

“John, you know that kind of language is not to be used in this house,” Mycroft told him, standing up.

John panicked for a moment, thinking Mycroft might have some punishment planned. The man simply picked up the crutch John had left by the wall and held out his hand for the boy to take.

“Now, I know you are in pain, frustrated, angry, and confused at this whole situation, but I assure you, Sherlock and I are here to take care of you.” He grabbed John’s hand and gently helped him up until he was able to fit the crutch under his arm. “I will call Gregory. Why don’t you go take a bath while we wait for him? You still smell like hospital.”

John nodded. He could smell himself and it wasn’t pleasant, so he headed towards the bedroom. “Sherlock, go help him, please.”

“I can do it myself!” John shouted back, just as he almost tipped over and fell face first onto the ground.

“I don’t believe I asked you, John,” Mycroft said in that annoying Mycroft voice that offered no room for arguing.

When John arrived in the bathroom, he placed his crutch up against the wall. Sherlock was right behind him, turning on the tap and closing the door. “Hold onto my shoulders,” he said, kneeling down in front of John.

“Wait, Sherlock, what are you doing?” John said, but strangely enough, his hands went straight to Sherlock’s shoulders.

“Obvious,” was all the Dom said before he tugged John’s trousers and pants down to his knees.

“Sherlock!” John shouted, instinctively taking a step back. He lost his balance, letting his hands flail in the air and his eyes grow wide as he fell. Then, there were hands under his arms and around his back, keeping him from slamming hard into the tile floor.

“I’ve got you,” Sherlock said, lowering John slowly to the ground.

John thought he would die from embarrassment alone as he sat half naked on a bathroom floor with his Dom pulling his pants off with a gentleness one would show a child. Sherlock finally worked John’s pants and trousers off, then went to work on his shirt.

“This sucks so bad,” John said, rubbing his head with the heel of his hand once he was completely naked.

“Why?” Sherlock asked, lifting John up under the arms.

“Just look at me!” John said, hobbling towards the tub and stepping in with his good foot. “I’m completely naked with my Dom lowering me into a bathtub like I’m some kind of doll. Not to mention,” John said as he sat down and lifted his leg onto a towel Sherlock had left on the lip of the tub, “my bits are hanging out everywhere with my leg hiked up like this. So yeah, Sherlock, this sucks.”

Sherlock stared at him, his brow knitting as if he was working out a math problem. He held a soapy flannel in his hand, but he remained a complete statue.

“What?” John asked, feeling uncomfortable. He put his hand down to cover himself, feeling too exposed.

“You said ‘my Dom,’” he said, letting the flannel rest on John’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said, not seeing the big deal. Sherlock was his Dom, he took care of him, fed him, helped him fall asleep, so yeah, Sherlock was definitely his Dom. “I mean…unless,” John started to feel less sure of himself as those silver eyes pierced into his soul. “Unless you don’t want to be. I mean, that’s fine too, I guess.” John said, reaching to take the cloth from the man’s hands.

 Sherlock grabbed John’s hand, and to the boy’s horror and secret glee, the man kissed his knuckles. After a brief moment, Sherlock placed John’s hand back in the water to continue covering himself. There was a bright smile on Sherlock’s face now, one John had never seen before. It was akin to Molly’s joyous expression when she had chocolate for the first time.

The tingles John felt from his head to his toes made the boy smile too. It seemed there was some sort of electrical pylon in John’s stomach that sent of sparks every time Sherlock touched him. It was getting worse, John knew, and one of these days it would be too much for him to contain. The question was though, would Sherlock return what John felt deep inside.

Sherlock washed John with a new found vigor, scrubbing the teen’s hair with his one good hand. John leaned back in the tub, enjoying Sherlock’s touches so much his hands fell away from cupping himself to rest on his lower stomach.

“Sherlock?” John mumbled, closing his eyes and letting Sherlock do the work of getting him clean.

“Hmm?”

_I love you._ “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, not opening his eyes to see the look on Sherlock’s face. He couldn’t say what his entire body and soul was telling him to reveal. John didn’t know if he could handle Sherlock rejecting him, as a Dom, or as a person who cared for him.

“Me too, John, me too.”                


	14. Born to Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John discusses his idea with his Doms. Some unexpected people show up at the interview.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so much for all the continuous support for this story. This will be the last chapter in part two, one because I'm running out of song titles by Elton John, and two, things are going to be changing for John and it just seemed appropriate. 
> 
> This has been edited by the lovely TPurr. Thanks, love! 
> 
> Also, cliffhanger ahoy!

Chapter 14 – Born to Lose

John was able to get himself dried off with only a little help from Sherlock. It seemed the man didn’t care when John slapped his hand or growled at him, as Sherlock just continued on rubbing the towel over his bits. When he was done, he refused to ask Sherlock for help in putting on his pants and trousers, even though he fell down twice trying to get them on. Once he got all his clothes on, John rubbed his hair down with his hands to look half way presentable when Greg arrived.

A familiar knock at the front door had Sherlock handing John his crutch, and walking out the door. “Ah, much better,” Mycroft said on his way to the door, sniffing at John slightly. “Now you can be around other people without offending them.”

“Hey!” John said angrily, but the small smile on his face belied his actions. _Did Mycroft actually joke with me? Wow, I need to run into burning buildings more often._

“Gregory, welcome,” Mycroft said, opening the door to let the man into the living room. “Please have a seat. Devon is brewing some tea as we speak.”

“Sherlock, John, how are you boys feeling?” Greg asked, taking off his coat and hanging it on a hook. The older Dom walked over to the armchair and plopped down in it, crossing one leg over the other.

“Fine,” they both said at the same time, causing Greg to laugh.

“I’ll believe that when I see it. You both look like you’re about to collapse on the floor. Here,” Greg said standing up and grabbing Sherlock by the shoulders, “sit down before you hurt yourself.” Sherlock slapped his hand away much like the way John had slapped his when he was toweling off.

“Unhand me!” Sherlock said, his over dramatics making both John and Greg roll their eyes. The young Dom dropped onto the couch, reaching his hand out to grab John. He pulled the Sub down with him and put his arm around John’s shoulder, holding his smaller body to Sherlock’s side.

When the three were settled on the couch together, with Greg across from them, Devon came out with a tray with four cups of tea. John furrowed his brow in confusion when a cup of milky tea was set in front of him. He knew it had to be some kind of trick to knock him out or something diabolical in nature.

“Mr. Holmes said you liked a little milk in your tea,” Devon said, bending down to talk to John. “Is that correct? Or shall I get you a fresh cup?”

John looked up at the butler, dumbstruck and confused. One, how did they knew he liked milk in his tea and no sugar, and two, why the fuck were they letting him drink tea?! It didn’t make any sense, but John just shook his head, eyeing the man carefully. “No thank you, this is fine.” All four men watched him as he stared at the tea, waiting for him to take a sip.

Sighing, John picked up the cup and took a sip, knowing it was a trust game that the Holmes boys were playing. It didn’t make sense that they would drug him now, but one never knew when dealing with lunatics.

“Good boy,” Sherlock said, stroking John’s spine slowly. The warmth of the perfect tea and Sherlock’s touches calmed the boy’s nerves slightly, allowing him to focus better on Greg.

“So what do you need to know?” John asked, setting his tea down and bracing his forearms on his knees.

“Why don’t you just start from the beginning? When the Rebels took you and Jim.”

John told the Doms everything he remembered about that day. He had nothing to hide, and if what he told Greg would get that crazy woman off the street, then he’d be more than happy to answer any of his questions.

“So they tried to remove Jim’s collar, but you stopped them?”

“Yeah, he didn’t want it taken from him, but they seemed pretty insistent on it,” John told him, rubbing his neck where his collar used to be. John would never admit this, especially not to Sherlock, but he kind of missed the weight around his neck. The shock collar was bad, but at least he knew where he stood with his Doms. If he did something bad, he got punished, if he did something good, he got praises. _John you’re starting to sound like a dog. Knock it off._

“That would make sense,” Sherlock nodded his head. “Then they took yours off?”

“Without any drugs to knock you out?” Greg asked, shocked.

“I used my own bliss. Irene taught me how to do it, and it worked! I was able to go through the surgery without being put under.”

The Doms grew silent, shifting uncomfortably in their seats. John took the silence as an opportunity to voice his idea of how Subs creating their own bliss was a good thing. “It’s not something to be feared,” he told Sherlock. “I was able to run into a burning building and pull out someone larger than me. I didn’t feel any pain, any fear, I was the perfect one for the job.” John talked with his hands, waving them from Greg to Sherlock. He just knew they would be on his side, they had to be.

“So I was thinking. What if we created a class at IBAD to teach Subs with RDD how to create their own bliss! Then…then they could become soldiers, firefighters, police officers, anything. They wouldn’t be able to be Dommed and they would be able to do the dangerous jobs out there without any fear. It’s perfect!” John had a wide smile on his face, proud that he had come up with such a brilliant plan. Hell, he could even teach the classes.

Sherlock’s hand had stopped rubbing his back as soon as John started his pitch. His hand hung heavy at the top of John’s neck, where the man squeezed almost to the point of pain.

 “John, I don’t think-” Greg started, but was cut off by an angry voice.

“No!” Sherlock shouted, his hand squeezing John’s spine.

“But Sherlock-”

“No! This is preposterous and just…just wrong!” Sherlock said, looking at John with anger and bewilderment.

“What’s wrong about it?” John asked, his voice growing just as loud and just as angry as Sherlock’s. He would be damned if Sherlock was going to tell him some bullshit about Doms are the only ones who should be able to give Subs their bliss.

“It is obvious Subs cannot control themselves. Half of the Rebels have already died from the overdose of bliss in their system. All because this Irene woman told them it was okay to create their own bliss! It is not right and there is no way in hell anyone is going to agree to that, especially Doms.”

“You…You…” John said, his face scrunching up in anger. He pulled away from Sherlock’s hand, thankful that the man sat in the middle so John could scoot back into the arm rest. “You’re just afraid we won’t need you anymore!” John shouted, actually pushing the Dom in the chest, hard.

The anger in Sherlock’s eyes drained out as if John had just kicked the plug away. Now, pure sadness filled the man, as he looked away from John. An awkward silence filled the room, save for the small clinking of china from the tea cups.

“John,” Mycroft said, his voice calm, “what my brother is trying to say is that your idea is too idealistic and would only anger Doms and cause riots by the Subs. Our world is just not ready for something like that. Maybe in a couple hundred years, but not now.”

“Too idealistic?” John asked, picking up his cup and sipping the now cold tea. “I think this world needs a little bit of that right now.”

“There is no way Doms are going to allow their Subs to learn how to create their own bliss; nor will employers start hiring Subs for important jobs such as firefighting. It just won’t happen,” Greg said, “and like Mycroft said, you will only do more harm than good by bringing these findings to light.”

“But…”John lowered his head. This conversation hadn’t gone anywhere near how he thought it would. Sherlock was mad at him and both Greg and Mycroft are telling him he’s naive and stupid. John just knew there had to be some way to get his idea out there and start a revolution.  “But it’s not fair,” was all he could come up with.

Sherlock’s hand returned to John’s thigh, squeezing gently as an apology. John let him, even though he was still angry.

“I know it’s not, John,” Mycroft said, his voice actually sounding morose. “But you have to trust us when we say Subs creating their own bliss is a very dangerous thing, both for the Subs themselves and their Doms.”

“There has to be some way to help these Subs,” John asked, his eyes pleading.

“The collars, John,” Mycroft told him, “that is what gave you the strength and drive to go in after Sherlock.”

“The collar?”

“Yes,” he nodded, looking over to Greg.

“John, tomorrow, if you’re ready, the press want to speak with you about what happened that day. We need you to tell them that it was your collar that helped you ‘brave the flames.’” Greg told him, his hands on his knees as he looked intently at John.

“But…” John thought for a moment. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t the collar, it was the bliss that he created that helped him get Sherlock to safety. They were asking him to lie, and for what? To sell their little collars. _Is it for the greater good? Will these collars really help Subs? They helped Jim, after all._

“John,” Mycroft said, “you’ve seen what good the collar can do and what it helps prevent, yes?”

Memories of the kennels flashed through his mind. Tombstones, skinny, dirty bodies, and God awful whines were enough to make his eyes burn with tears again. John nodded his head, looking at the milky brown tea in his hand.

“This collar is the way to a peaceful revolution, not giving false hope to Subs and angering Doms in the process.”

John looked over at Sherlock, who was still looking down at the ground, his face contorted in anger. _Why does this upset him so much?_ “Okay,” John said meekly. John didn’t know if he completely trusted Mycroft and Greg, but what they said did have some merit. If other Doms reacted like Sherlock, then they would be in a whole world of hurt.

“Good!” Greg said, smiling and leaning back in his chair. “They want to interview you in front of the old estate. It’s still has walls missing and scorch marks, so it make a nice back drop for their cameras. Damn vultures.”

“Be that as it may, it will be a perfect time to promote the collar and possibly save some Subs,” Mycroft said, standing up. “It’s best you two take it easy for the rest of the day.” With that, Mycroft left the room.

“I’ll need you to sign your statement, John, but other than that you’ve given us all we need. We’ll do our best to find those Subs who blew up your home,” Greg said.

Sherlock let out a dramatic laugh, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. “That’ll be the day.”

“Sherlock,” Greg sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “John, I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Will Molly be there? And Jim?” John asked, hopeful to see his friends again.

“Not this time, but I can bring them over tomorrow night, if you like,” Greg told him, making his way towards the door.

“Yeah, thanks,” John said, leaning back in the sofa and collecting his thoughts.

“See you tomorrow.”

“You should stay on the couch and rest, John. I have some experiments that need attending to,” Sherlock said, patting John on the head, then leaving the room.

John sat there for a long while, trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do. On one side, he wanted other Subs to be able to create their own bliss, because maybe, just maybe, it would lead to more rights and freedom for them. On the other hand though, John knew how angry Doms would be at finding out Subs didn’t need them anymore. Once again, John was faced with a decision that was much bigger than himself. And once again, he was scared to death.

.oOo.

Sherlock woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of John talking in his sleep. The boy’s face was scrunched up in pain and he was repeating ‘please, no ‘please, no’ over and over again under his breath. To calm his Sub, Sherlock pushed out a small amount of bliss and placed his hand on the side of John’s face.

At his touch, John calmed considerably, making a small smile come across the Dom’s face. He relished in the fact that his Sub, his John, settled by his touch and his bliss. That’s all he ever wanted for the boy; from the first time he tried to attack him, that’s all Sherlock wanted for the boy, peace. The memory of John, who seemed so much smaller and younger back then, coming at him with the tact of a baby kitten, made Sherlock’s smile widen even more.

All Sherlock wanted to do was bathe John, feed John, care for John, love John, and maybe one day, if he could build their trust enough, make love to John. He knew the boy was already attracted to him, after all, he could hear his name being called every time John pleasured himself in the shower. Sherlock also played a part in John’s dreams as well, if the moans and the hardness he could feel sticking out from the sheets meant anything.

Sherlock felt the same way about the teenager. He loved him more than he’d ever loved anything in this world, which meant he was responsible for keeping that precious stubborn boy safe. It would be difficult, but Sherlock knew, with his brother’s help (even though he would never admit it) they could protect John from problems outside.

This bliss though, this bliss was something Sherlock had not foreseen. This was something that could take John away from him from the inside. _How on Earth can I protect John from himself?!_ He had to convince the Sub that it was dangerous, to himself and others. Sherlock couldn’t live with himself if John ended up like those Subs they pulled out from the Resistance base.

He caressed John’s cheek, watching as the boy stirred slightly, then snuggled deeper into the pillow. This boy was his, and he would do anything to keep him safe, even if it meant protecting him from himself.  

Sherlock leaned forward and lightly kissed the teenager’s forehead. “I love you.”

.oOo.

John stood next to Sherlock in front of a crowd of at least thirty people. Some were reporters, while others were just passersby or readers of the paper. He had a nice white dress shirt with a blue tie and black slacks, but John still squirmed under the attention.

“I’d like to introduce you to the ‘boy who braved the flame,’ John Watson!” said the man who stood before the audience. Mycroft, who stood on his left side, squeezed the boy’s arm, then pushed him forward.

John used his crutch until he arrived at the podium, placing it on the side where the public could see it, just as Mycroft instructed. “Hi,” John said into the microphone, his voice meeker than he wanted.

All the reporters started asking questions, until John pointed at a woman, letting her talk first. “John, everyone is so proud of you. What you did was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen a Sub do.”

“Umm, thanks,” John said, giving a wide fake smile

“Do you love your Doms? Is that why you saved them?”

“Yeah, well, umm, I…they treat me really well, so I care about them, yeah,” John stuttered through his answer, but the audience seemed captivated.

“Do you think the collar had anything to do with your shift from a rebel Sub to a boy who runs into burning buildings to save his Doms?”

John looked back at his Doms, then back out to the crowd. He knew he was supposed to promote the collar, and he also knew the collar was a good thing for Subs. Taking a deep breath, John admitted what wasn’t necessarily a lie, but also not necessarily the truth. He loved Sherlock, of course he did, hell, he even cared about Mycroft to some extent, but it wasn’t the collar that did that.

“Yes, the collar’s really changed my outlook on things, my Doms being one of them.”

Everyone murmured to their neighbor, making John feel uncomfortable. The woman nodded to him, and took a step back. A man took her place and smiled at John. “John, I think everyone was quite impressed with your fortitude. You aren’t the largest of sixteen year olds,” he said, making everyone laugh. _Thanks arsehole._ “And to be able to carry out first Jim Moriarty, and then your Dom who is a fully grown man…well, that seems a little unbelievable. So, I’m going to ask the question everyone wants to know the answer to. How?”

John swallowed hard. This was it, the big question, the question that would either be revolutionary for Subs, or be disastrous for them. John knew where silence led him. Sub’s freedoms would be slow and far between if Mycroft’s collars were the only thing going for them. But if John did tell everyone about his findings, the future was unknown and the potential could be unlimited.

_Okay, just tell them. Mycroft can’t be too mad for too long, right? Just breathe deep and…wait…no, it can’t be._ John watched as a familiar man and woman walked up behind the reporter. His heart stopped in his chest and his whole body went numb. Any safety that his Doms had provided was just an illusion, and now, with two words, John’s world crumbled. “Mom? Dad?”    

            End of part 2  

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I'd love to hear your thoughts on the latest update.
> 
> I'm not huge into social media, but I have a Tumblr if anybody wants to stop by and see me. http://nightfall24.tumblr.com/


End file.
